


Their Kind

by timeiscontagious



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: post 5x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4091014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeiscontagious/pseuds/timeiscontagious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their kind do not go through life with grace and ease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rootless Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Rootless Tree by Damien Rice

Mickey ran for his life this morning.

Literally.

That stupid bitch chased him with a fucking gun all while screaming about revenge. Fuck her.

By the time the cops showed up, Mickey was out of breath and had been certain of his imminent demise. Thank God for gentrification. With rich white people taking over the neighborhood, the Chicago PD were finally making their presence known.

Sammi had two guns aimed at her as she wisely put her own gun down and lied face down on the ground with her hands behind her head. Mickey couldn’t help but laugh. It had all been so ridiculous.

The cops had wanted him to come to the station to file a report, press charges. Mickey refused. The gun was unregistered and she certainly didn’t have a permit. The City of Chicago would have enough against her without his cooperation.

After the cops had driven away, Mickey promptly headed to the liquor store where he stole three bottles of whiskey and four six packs. The cashier owed Iggy money and didn’t intend to put up a fight, merely turning his head as Mickey walked passed him.

Now Mickey sits on his bed, nursing the last beer of one of the six packs. He already finished off one bottle of whiskey and was well on his way to getting truly fucked up. The events of the day finally weigh heavy on his shoulders and he fights the urge to cry.

Goddamn it. That stupid fucking son of a bitch.

Mickey gave Ian what he could. He was trying. He was fighting to keep them afloat, to keep Ian afloat. The fucking prick. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He looks around the room and sees Ian in every crevice.

Fuck.

He throws his empty beer can across the room before passing out.

* * *

 Mickey wakes up to Iggy standing over him. He startles a bit then groans.

“What the fuck you want?”

“You look like run over dog shit.”

“Fuck you.”

Mickey’s head throbs and his vision is still a bit blurry. He suddenly feels stomach acid at the back of his throat and jumps up, barely making it to the bathroom where he vomits into the sink. Iggy follows him, leaning against the bathroom door frame. Mickey heaves a couple more times before he rinses out the sink and his mouth. He turns to see Iggy smirking at him like the fucker he is.

“What the fuck do you want, Iggy?”

Iggy chuckles.

“What the fuck happened to you last night? You and your boyfriend hit the bottle too hard, huh?”

Mickey doesn’t respond. Iggy continues.

“I got to make a few house calls. Want to come?”

Mickey shakes his head. His only plans for today involve the remaining two whiskey bottles and three six packs. If he’s lucky, he might be able to find Iggy’s good stash of weed too. He walks to the kitchen and pulls out a six pack before lighting a cigarette from a pack he found on the counter. Iggy watches him intensely until Mickey snaps.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you staring at?”

“What happened?”

Mickey looks at his feet.

“I know something’s up, Mick. So what is it?”

Iggy pauses.

“Shit, it’s not Dad, is it? He’s not getting out, is he?”

Mickey looks up in time to see the look of fear etched on Iggy’s face. He thinks about how fucked up the Milkovich kids are if the mere thought of their father is enough to have them almost pissing their pants. Mickey shakes his head.

“No, it’s not Dad. It’s Ian.”

Iggy waits for Mickey to continue.

“It’s over. We’re…we’re over.”

“Fuck.”

Mickey chuckles. His words exactly.

“Had to end sometime, right?”

Iggy nods.

“Most things do.”

Iggy leaves and walks to his room while Mickey finishes his beer. He returns with a small bag of coke.

“You want a line?”

Mickey nods, knowing this is the Milkovich way of showing sympathy. Iggy actually fucking cares.

They snort a line together before Iggy leaves to make the rounds. Mickey heads back to his room and the consoling comfort of his bed.

He’s got no more fight in him today.

* * *

The way Mickey sees it he could very well lie in bed the rest of his life, drunk off his ass and stoned out of his mind. People do it. Shit, every man in this fucking neighborhood basically lives this way. Why not him?

So he does.

For five months and three days, this is how he spends his life. He wakes up in the morning, drinks a bottle of whatever is on hand – God bless Iggy for keeping the fridge and cabinets stocked with liquor – smokes some primo weed, and then passes out.

He figures this is the best it’s ever going to get for him. Despite being messed up a majority of the day, he still finds himself thinking of Ian. His fucking smile and terrible jokes. The way he used to wake Mickey up in the morning by trailing his fingers lightly over Mickey’s skin. His hands and how they molded to Mickey’s flesh, kneading and grasping like Mickey was a raft in a stormy sea.

He swears some nights he can feel Ian next to him in bed. The weight and heat of him pressing down on him. Or he’ll wake up at dawn to an empty bed and immediately think that Ian’s out for a run. When the reality of Ian’s absence hits him, he’s down for the count.

He rubs his eyes to force the tears back, but they come anyway. They always come. And every time they do he fears they’ll never stop.

One particularly bad night when he woke up in a panic because he thought he heard Ian crying before realizing that Ian didn’t live with him anymore, he calls Mandy. She answers after the fifth ring, mumbling a greeting into the phone. Mickey takes a shaky breath.

“Mandy.”

There's a slight pause before she responds.

“You dreamt about him again?”

Mickey sniffs and clears his throat.

“He left. Me. He left me.”

Mickey begins to cry.

“What do I do? I love him so much. I don’t know what to do.”

Mickey repeats the story he’s been telling for ages. Trailing through their relationship with a fine tooth comb, hoping to find the source of their ruin.

Mandy listens. Like she always does. She finally speaks once he’s exhausted his tale of woe.

“Fucking Gallaghers.”

Mickey snorts. Those two words say it all.

* * *

Two days after calling Mandy, Mickey finds himself standing outside of the Fairy Tail.

He knows he shouldn’t be here. He knows he’s probably lost his fucking mind by showing up to look for Ian, but he has to see him. He has to talk to him, to get Ian to reconsider. After all the shit they’ve waded through, they can’t end as simple as that. There’s just no way.

Mickey enters and pushes through the crowd of drunk and horny patrons in search of Ian. He doesn’t see him on any platform. For all he knows, Ian may not even have come in tonight. Just as he’s ready to leave and head to the Gallagher house instead, he sees Ian on a couch. He’s kissing and dry humping some blond guy while three other guys look on. Mickey’s fight instinct kicks in as usual and he storms over, pushing pass the three men and grabbing Ian by the arm. Ian immediately yanks his arm away.

“What the fuck, dude?”

Mickey sees the light go out of Ian’s eyes when he realizes it’s him. Ian stands up and stares Mickey down.

“What are you doing here?”

“Apparently stopping you from fucking some guy in front of a crowd of people.”

Ian glares at Mickey before sighing and cocking his head to the side, indicating that Mickey follow him.

He does.

They end up in one of the private rooms. Mickey works up the nerve to speak, but Ian beats him to the punch.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Ian looks away.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Trying to save me. Stop. I don’t need to be saved.”

Mickey shakes his head.

“I’m not trying…”

“Yes, you are. And you need to stop.”

“Ian…”

“I have to get back to work.”

Ian pushes pass Mickey to the door. Mickey grabs Ian by the arm and turns him around.

“Would you just wait a fucking minute? Jesus, Ian, let me at least get a word in.”

Ian sighs, looks into a broken boy’s eyes, and tells Mickey the last thing he wants to hear.

“Go home, Mickey. There’s nothing for you here.”

Mickey thinks there’s nothing worse than watching the love of his life walk away from him for a final time.

* * *

Mickey walks into his house, passing an unconscious Iggy on the way in. He moves to the kitchen and pulls out a beer before putting it back.

He should want to destroy brain cells right now, but he can’t stomach the thought. Instead he walks to his bedroom and lies down, placing his head on one of Ian’s shirts that has begun to smell more like Mickey than Ian.

He revisits the brief contact he had with him. The dagger-like words and indifference. How does a person go from wanting someone so much they would risk death to suddenly not wanting to be in the same room?

He’s pathetic. He knows he is. Chasing after Ian like the bitch he always denied he was. Waiting for him to change his mind, come to his senses, realize his mistake. But he won’t, will he? Mickey knows he won’t. Tonight proved that.

This time Mickey doesn’t even try to stop the tears from falling. He lets them come like a flood. What does he have to be strong for now? He’s not responsible for anyone else anymore.

By the time 3:30 rolls around, Mickey’s cried his tears. He has gone sufficiently numb.

Numb is good. Numb works for him. He can live with numb. But it won’t last forever. He knows this. He knows that eventually he’ll start to feel again, especially when he sees Ian in every fissure of his life. There’s no place that Ian didn’t pour himself into.

Mickey can’t stay in Chicago. It’s too fucking much. If he stays, he’ll just end up putting a needle in his arm or a gun in his mouth. Anything to avoid the taint of Ian.

He stands up and grabs a duffel bag he finds buried in his closet. He throws clothes, toiletries, and cigarettes into it. He crawls under his bed and pulls out the wad of cash he has strapped there.

He’s saved over $3500 in the past few years. He kept it for emergencies, mainly for bail at first, but once Ian came into the picture it was used to keep them afloat. He still has over $2000 left.

Mickey then goes to Iggy’s room, not feeling even the tiniest bit guilty when he finds Iggy’s own secret fund of $1600. He writes a quick note to Iggy, merely stating that he’ll call when he gets to where he’s going.

Maybe.

Probably not.

He grabs his bag and the car keys from the coffee table before heading out.

He doesn’t let himself look back.

* * *

Mickey takes the Stevenson south.

He doesn’t know where he’s going. He figures he’ll just keep driving until the car breaks down. Knowing his luck, he’ll only get as far as LaGrange.

He drives in silence at first but eventually puts on the radio. The silence allows for thinking and that’s the last thing he wants to do right now. If he thinks, he may talk himself out of leaving and that cannot happen.

It’s self-preservation at its finest.

He expected the tension to ease a bit the farther he got from Chicago, but it doesn’t. Not really. That fucking cord that has tethered him to Ian for the past three goddamn years remains, stretching through the distance. He wishes it would snap already, but he also fears that if it does, he definitely won’t be able to get it back. And he might need it again someday.

He passes St. Louis and transfers to the 44. That’s how he finds himself 15 miles outside of Tulsa huddled in a stairwell of a cheap motel while tornado sirens go off. This is what he gets for driving through Tornado Alley in the middle of May.

He smokes a cigarette while the front desk clerk – some young girl who can’t be more than 19 – stares at him. He wants to ask her what the fuck she’s looking at but stops himself. He may be stuck with her in the stairwell for awhile. The man whom he assumes is the owner of the motel has his eyes closed. The girl grimaces and shoots an apologetic look at Mickey when the man starts to snore.

Finally, the sirens stop and they wait fifteen more minutes before the girl nods at him, giving him the all clear.

Mickey’s just getting settled into bed when there’s a knock on his door. He ignores it at first, but the knocking becomes more insistent so he hauls himself up and swings open the door. He makes his displeasure known.

“What?”

It’s the girl. She smiles at him while holding two towels.

“I brought some more towels. I know we only give one. Figured you might need them.”

Mickey grunts a thanks and takes them from her. She doesn’t move. She has her hands clasped, looking like she wants to say something else but is too nervous to.

“There something else?”

He thinks he knows what she wants. She probably came here looking to fuck him. She’s been staring at him since the moment he walked through the office door and asked for a room. She’s in for a disappointment.

She shakes her head but still doesn’t leave. Mickey rolls his eyes and figures he might as well just get it over with.

“Listen, I know you probably think that you coming here means we’re going to fuck, but that’s not going to happen. I like dick. A lot. So, I hate to disappoint, but I’m going to have to pass.”

The girl has a shocked expression on her face before responding.

“Oh. I didn’t…that’s not what I’m here for.”

He’s such an egotistical jackass.

“Then what do you want?”

She looks nervous again.

“Can I come in?”

He sighs before moving to the side to let her pass. She walks in and looks around the room as though she’s never been in it before. He shuts the door and crosses his arms. There’s a long pause.

“So?”

She pushes her brown hair behind her ears and bites her lip. Mickey’s eyebrows rise. He’s tired and his patience has dissipated.

“Are you going to talk or what?”

“Where are you going?”

“Well, I was hoping to go to bed, but that just may be shot to shit if you don’t get on with it.”

“No, I meant where are you traveling to?”

He shrugs.

“Don’t know yet.”

“Just driving then? Seeing where the road takes you?”

“I guess.”

“You know, I’ve never been out of this town. Almost 19 years old and I’ve never left. This place is stifling. But no one ever leaves. People get stuck here. The two friends I have are married with kids. Only one of them finished high school. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. No one’s happy. I –“

Mickey interrupts her.

“Why are you telling me this?”

She takes a deep breath and begins talking. Fast.

“I got to get out of here. I can’t stay in this place anymore. I’ll end up like everyone else. Unhappy with a bunch of kids I didn’t want, living in a trailer with a man I can’t stand who drinks and fools around on me all the time. I’ll be stuck working at this motel and taking care of my dad who hasn’t been sober in years. I’ll have to listen to people whispering about me and looking at me and I won’t do it. I won’t do it anymore. I have to get out now. If I don’t go now, I’ll end up dying in this place.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I want to go with you. Wherever you’re going, I want to go to. I don’t care where I end up as long as it’s not here.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I have money. There’s money saved up. I can help with gas and food and whatever else.”

“You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

Mickey opens the door. He feels her grab his arm and he quickly pulls it away. She has a desperate look in her eyes. He can tell she’s trying hard not to cry.

“Please.”

“I don’t fucking know you. You don’t know me. I could be a serial killer or a rapist –“

“Are you? A serial killer or a rapist?”

“No –“

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want company. So could you get the fuck out now?”

“Listen –“

“No.”

Mickey grabs her arm and pushes her out the door before slamming it in her face.

What a weird ass girl.

* * *

Mickey gets only about an hour of sleep. Without liquor to knock him out, his sleep pattern is all jacked up. He finally resigns himself to the fact that he’ll just have to make do with coffee and gets out of bed at 4:40 in the morning to shower and dress.

At 5:15 he walks out of his motel room where he finds the girl leaning against the passenger door of his car with a small bag at her feet. She stands up straight when he walks over but doesn’t say anything. He ignores her, putting his bag in the trunk and getting into the car. He puts the key into the ignition but doesn’t turn it.

Motherfucker.

She looks and acts nothing like the Milkovichs, but he can’t help but compare her to them anyway. She’s caught in a web weaved by a drunk dad, no mom, and shitty circumstances. It’s his life basically. It’s what he’s leaving behind too. He shakes his head because he can’t believe that he’s actually contemplating taking her with him. He’s probably going to get accused of kidnapping or some shit.

Fuck it.

He leans across the front seat and unlocks the passenger door. She immediately opens it, throwing her bag in the backseat before getting in and putting her seatbelt on. She locks the door and looks at him, a huge smile on her face. He doesn’t say anything, just turns the car on and shifts to reverse.

“I’m Annie by the way.”

“Mickey.”

“Nice to meet you, Mickey.”

He grunts.

She laughs.

* * *

Annie’s not much of a talker which Mickey appreciates. She stares out the window mostly and softly hums to the songs on the radio, but other than that, she’s quiet. She springs for coffee and snacks along with giving him some money for gas every time they need to stop. She moves so quickly, though, like she’s terrified he’s going to abandon her at some gas station or McDonald’s, but to be honest, he doesn’t blame her. He’s actually thought about it a couple of times; mainly because he can’t believe he actually has some strange girl riding in the car with him to God knows where.

They make it to Albuquerque.

He stops off at a gas station to buy a six pack before heading to the nearest motel. They get separate rooms. Before he enters his, she tells him she plans on grabbing something to eat and invites him along. He shakes his head.

Half an hour later, Annie’s knocking on his door with a burger and fries. He would refuse her offering if he weren’t so damn hungry. She sits on the bed and turns on the TV while he rummages through the bag of food. He offers her a beer which she refuses. She sticks to the water bottle she brought.

They end up watching three episodes of _Quantum Leap_ before she wishes him a good night and goes to her room. Mickey again contemplates leaving her here and continuing on his own but decides against it.

He’s not that much of an asshole.

 

He dreams of Ian. He dreams of chasing after him, running to catch up. Every time he thinks he’s close enough to grab his shirt or touch a wisp of his hair, Ian speeds up and turns a corner. He leaves Mickey behind. But Mickey won’t stop running. Won’t stop reaching. How could he?

Ian’s all he’s ever known.

* * *

Mickey wakes up to a banging on his door. He hears Annie calling his name. He groans before standing up and answering the door.

“What?”

Annie’s already showered and dressed, holding her small bag and a cup of coffee.

“It’s 10 o’clock. We have to be checked out by 11.”

She hands him the coffee.

“I figured you might need this.”

He grunts his appreciation before accepting it and heading to the bathroom. By the time he’s ready, she’s tidied his room and has his bag waiting by the door.

Annie remains quiet while he transfers to the 17. She’s never once asked where they’re going, has never expressed the least bit of interest. He’s glad though because he honestly has no idea where they’re headed. He’s thought about Seattle or somewhere in Northern California but hasn’t decided on anything yet. He doesn’t know how much more his car can take.

Mickey’s car breaks down in Phoenix.

* * *

 He and Annie abandon the car on the side of the road. She’s hesitant about leaving it there, but honestly, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s surprised the car got them this far.

They walk to the nearest motel, but before they go inside, Annie stops him.

“I think we should only get one room.”

“Why?”

“We don’t have a car anymore. I think this is it, Mickey. I think Phoenix is where we’re staying. We need to slow down on spending money until we’re able to find jobs or something.”

This pisses him off.

Somewhere along the line, she’s come to believe that they’re in this together. That they’re going to settle down or some shit.

It’s bullshit. He’s done with depending on others because it got him fucking nowhere. He clenches his jaw before spitting out his words.

“There’s no ‘we’. I got you out of that town like you wanted. Congratulations. Now it’s time for you to go your way and for me to go mine. Good luck.”

He ignores her surprised look and walks away.

* * *

Mickey finds himself in a bar surrounded by people whom he assumes also have shitty lives.

He buys three shots of whiskey and then sticks to beer for the rest of the night. The men next to him argue about the Diamondbacks while the woman two seats down cries into her beer. Mickey can’t help but stare at her until she looks up.

“Men are worthless pieces of shit. They take what they want until you’re nothing but a shell.”

Mickey raises his glass to her.

“You’re goddamn fucking right.”

 

Mickey throws up on the sidewalk outside the bar after last call and somehow stumbles the two blocks back to the motel. He asks the front desk clerk about Annie and there’s something to be said about a place that readily gives up information, no questions asked.

Of course that something is nothing good.

He knocks on her door, and when she answers, he fully expects her to slam the door in his face. Instead she sighs and leads him in, putting him to bed.

The last thing he remembers is her taking off his shoes.

* * *

He wakes up to a pounding in his head and a ringing in his ears. He turns on his stomach and hides his face in the pillow, trying to avoid the sunlight pouring around the edges of the drapes. Phoenix is fucking bright.

He hears the bathroom door open and the footsteps of a girl he doesn’t feel up to facing right now. She turns on the TV and he hears the mundane news reports. Mickey feels her standing over him and groans. He turns to his side to face her.

“What?”

Just saying that hurts his fucking head.

“You always get this drunk?”

“Fuck you care?”

Annie looks away and bites her lip.

“What are you running from?”

“I’m not running.”

“People just don’t leave Illinois and drive to Phoenix without some kind of story behind it. What’s yours?”

“None of your fucking business.”

He gets up and walks to the bathroom, slamming the door. Jesus, his fucking head.

 

Later, he lies on the bed watching some show about how they make Astroturf.

Annie’s fucked off to somewhere. He half hopes she won’t come back, but she left her stuff here so he knows it’s a long shot. Just as he’s contemplating going to the vending machines around the corner, she comes stomping through the door. She slams it shut. Her face is red and her hands are shaking. Anger is not a good look on her.

“Are you running from the law?”

“What?”

“Did you do something illegal? Is that why you left Illinois?”

“Isn’t this something you should have asked me before getting in my car?”

“Answer the question.”

Mickey shakes his head.

“No.”

“Are you an alcoholic?”

He laughs.

“Probably. It would make some shit a lot easier if I was.”

She clenches her jaw and bites out.

“That’s not funny.”

He rolls his eyes.

“So what brought on the interrogation, Annie Oakley? Finally starting to realize that you’re fucking crazy to get in a car with a complete stranger before vetting him?”

“Yes.”

“Regretting it?”

She shrugs.

“I don’t know yet.”

Mickey chuckles.

“Don’t worry. Spend another hour or two with me and you will.”

Annie looks at the floor.

* * *

They sleep in the same bed. She’s hesitant at first, but when he offers to sleep on the floor, she just shakes her head and gets under the covers. They watch some third rate crime drama which Mickey hates. Everything is so black and white on these types of shows. There’s always a good guy and a bad guy. There’s no gray, no in-between. That’s not how life works though. Sometimes the bad guy is the good guy.

Sometimes the good guy has it coming.

That night as they lie in the dark Annie whispers to him.

“Why did you leave Illinois?”

He ignores her, but she’s persistent. “

Mickey, why di –“

“Reasons.”

“What ki –“

“Reasons that have fuck all to do with you. Now for fuck’s sake, will you shut up and go to sleep?”

She turns on her side and he stares at her back. For a brief second, she reminds him of Mandy.

Great.

Now he feels bad.

* * *

Annie’s really starting to piss Mickey off.

She keeps pushing for him to at least express some interest in getting a job now that she’s determined Phoenix is where they’re staying. She leaves him the classified section to two different newspapers with a cup of coffee every morning. She starts out early every day looking for work and doesn’t come back to the motel until after 5pm, bringing with her some sort of fast food. Annie reports where she was and whom she talked to and what applications she filled out like he actually gives a shit. She gets frustrated with him when he grunts replies or ignores her but never confronts him.

He’s starting to think she’s a bit of a wimp.

Mickey has no idea why he’s sticking around. He’s thought about leaving, about hopping a bus or a train to somewhere – anywhere really – but so far has done jack shit. He tells himself that she’s a naïve kid who needs him around to set her straight, but that’s not entirely true. He sticks around because she distracts him from all the shit running around inside his head. He doesn’t have to think about anything but the immediate circumstances when he’s with her.

And he likes that.

She hasn’t asked him anymore questions about his past since her little outburst last week which suits him just fine. What she does do is bring up little things about herself that he unfortunately remembers.

He knows that she likes 2% milk and four sugars in her coffee. She doesn’t wear jewelry because she feels it gets in her way. She doesn’t know how to walk in heels because she never really had an occasion to wear them. She’s afraid of dolls and stairs. She has “no choice” but to wear bangs because she has a high forehead, and she’s a pretty decent cook. Annie hasn’t told him anything too heavy yet, but he knows if he stays with her long enough she will.

He’s dreading that day.

Two and a half weeks after they arrive in Phoenix Annie gets a job as a hostess. She’s so excited that she jumps around a bit when she tells him and hugs him, throwing her arms around his neck and squealing. He’s uncomfortable and doesn’t hug back. She doesn’t seem to care.

She insists that they celebrate her good fortune and splurge at a sit-down restaurant.

She chooses Sizzler’s.

Mickey throws up in the bathroom before they’re even seated and tries to hide his shaking hands under the table for the rest of the night. Annie notices but doesn’t say anything.

He orders a steak.

Rare.

* * *

Almost two months later, Annie finally loses her patience with him.

“When are you getting a job?”

Mickey shrugs.

“Are you even looking?”

He isn’t. He throws out the classifieds she leaves him and doesn’t leave the room unless he needs to buy cigarettes and/or beer.

“You need to get a job, Mickey. We can’t keep living in this motel. I want us to get an apartment soon. I hate staying here. It reminds me of living in a trailer.”

“Then fucking get an apartment. What the fuck you need me for?”

She takes a deep breath in an effort to calm herself.

“I thought we were in this together.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Raggedy Anne.”

Her voice raises, but it’s not quite yelling. He can tell it makes her uncomfortable.

“Then why are you here? Why are you staying with me in this room if we’re not partners in this? Explain it to me. Please. Why is it so hard for you to try?”

Mickey stands up from the bed and begins throwing his things into his duffel bag.

“That’s great, Mickey. Go on and leave. Go drown yourself at the bottom of a bottle. That’s the only thing you’re even willing to do.”

“Fuck you.”

He storms out, slamming the door behind him.

He doesn’t need her critical bullshit.

* * *

Mickey spends the next four days in a drunken stupor.

He thinks of Ian only when he’s the right amount of intoxicated, too far gone to tell himself to stop but not enough to pass out. A particular memory has pushed its way to the forefront.

It was their first summer together. Ian had gotten him the job at the Kash and Grab and they spent more time with each other than anyone else. It was unnerving and exciting all at the same time.

He told himself it was just the sex. It was just the way Ian gripped his hips and pounded into him until Mickey had no choice but to see stars.

One night after fucking twice and sharing a six pack and four cigarettes, they walked home together. Ian of course rambled on about the army and ROTC like he did whenever he was buzzed. Mickey looked at his shoes the entire time, swatting at mosquitoes whenever he felt them brush his skin. They stopped at the corner that indicated their parting.

Ian’s hand reached out and ghosted over Mickey’s arm which sprouted goosebumps at the mere suggestion of contact.

Ian smiled.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Mickey watched him leave, he knew. He just knew.

He was in love with Ian Gallagher.

* * *

Mickey wakes up on the fifth morning of his binge and stares at the ceiling for an hour, trying to talk himself into getting out of bed.

He’s wallowing; he’s well aware of this. He feels he’s entitled though, considering that his life was blown to shreds by one word.

He’s lost. He’s floundering. And honestly, there’s a part of him that’s okay with that. There’s a part of him that’s done trying. Trying’s not worth it.

But there’s another part of him – a bigger and angrier part of him – that is demanding he cut the shit and get over it. That part is winning.

So he gets up. He showers and gets dress.

Then he ventures out and starts looking for a job.

This is easier said than done. He doesn’t have a high school diploma or even a GED. He has no marketable skills unless someone’s willing to count drug dealing, racketeering, and pimping as skills. He can’t even fall back on scamming because he has no contacts in Phoenix. He’s fucked basically.

He looks though.

And he tries.

 

 

Mickey is shit at apologizing.

He’s only ever done it once in his life and it ended up not mattering in the end. So when he goes to see Annie at the motel all he can say is that he’s started looking for work. Annie just stares at him, making him uncomfortable until he asks whether she’s going to let him in.

She does.

Three weeks later Mickey gets a job at a dry cleaner’s.

* * *

Mark the owner of the dry cleaner’s doesn’t really care that Mickey doesn’t have more than an 8th grade education. He completely ignores that Mickey has a record and “fuck u-up” tattooed on his knuckles. And this is all because the dry cleaning business is a front. Mark deals pot and cocaine and it’s the good shit too, none of that bullshit of stems and seeds and baking soda. As a result, he’s built quite the following.

Mickey thrives in this environment. It’s what he knows. He has cultivated knowledge on the art of drug dealing since he was five. He’s careful, understanding that even the slightest mistake could end with a 15 year prison term depending on what he's caught carrying.

He’ll be damned if he ends up that way.

Annie knows nothing about what he does. He doesn’t feel the need to tell her, considering it’s none of her business what he does as long as he’s making money. It’s strange, but he feels slightly guilty about this. He doesn’t know how she’d react though and he finds himself caring about that.

After a couple of months of working and Annie watching every penny, it’s determined that they have enough for a security deposit and first month’s rent.

He hesitates when she tells him this. Mickey never really thought they would get this far together. He always just assumed she’d leave him eventually, finally figure out that he was trash and not worth the effort.

But she’s stayed. And now she wants to live with him. He doesn’t know if she’s crazy or just scared of being alone. At this point though, he’s not so sure it matters anymore.

He and Annie scour apartment listings before finding one they can afford in Mesa. It’s a one bedroom which she calls comfortable. He calls it tiny as fuck. It’s got central air though which is the main reason he agrees to it. Arizona’s heat is fucking unbearable. He’s afraid his pasty ass is going to burst into flames at any second.

Moving in is easy considering they have very few belongings.

She cooks dinner with pots and pans she bought at Goodwill. They eat on the floor, balancing paper plates on their knees and using plastic utensils. They remain silent for a bit until he catches her looking around the apartment with a huge grin on her face. She looks at him and bursts out laughing.

Her joy is contagious. He can’t help but join her.

* * *

Four months pass and they’ve fallen into a routine, he and Annie. It’s domestic as fuck, and Mickey can’t believe he engages in it. They have set days for laundry and grocery shopping. He agrees to wash dishes since she does all of the cooking. When she works nights, he meets her at the restaurant to accompany her home.

One night, a block away from their apartment, Annie looks over at him.

“You’re a good man, Mickey.”

He doesn’t reply, too caught off guard to even attempt a sarcastic answer.

She doesn’t say anything more.

Later that night, he goes into the bathroom after she falls asleep and lets the tears well in his eyes while he thinks about what she said.

He doesn’t necessarily believe her, but it feels good to hear it all the same.

* * *

They’re sitting on their brand new couch watching TV. Although he was completely fine with used furniture, she adamantly refused. She was terrified of bed bugs plus she never had anything new for herself. She wanted to change that.

It goes to a commercial when she turns her whole body towards him and asks a question he expected to come at some point.

“Why don’t I know anything about you?”

He shrugs.

“I mean, you know pretty much everything about me. I tell you a lot of stuff.”

Does she ever.

He knows all about her mother running off with their pastor. Her father turning to drinking to numb the hurt and embarrassment. Her having to endure the whispers and stares of a so-called God-fearing community. About her only having two friends growing up but then being ignored by them once they got boyfriends. And about how he wasn’t the first person she asked for a ride out of town. He was just the first one to say yes.

Her life was nowhere near as bad as what he had to endure to which he’s grateful. If abandonment and whispering were enough to hurt her, he can’t imagine what beatings and rape would have done.

She decides to push a bit more.

“Listen, I know you’re not a big sharer which is okay, but I just want you to know that I’m here. You know, if you ever want to talk or whatever.”

She grabs his head and turns it towards her so that she can look into his eyes.

“I promise I won’t flinch.”

 

It’s midnight when he turns to her in bed and shakes her awake. She rolls over and rubs her eyes. He takes a breath.

“I was born in Chicago…”

* * *

Mickey tells her everything. He tells her about his mom dying, about Terry, about his brothers and sister. Speaks about juvie and dealing – even the current stuff – and pimping. He confesses his reason for leaving Chicago.

“Ian. His name is Ian.”

She keeps her promise. She doesn’t flinch when he describes the beatings. Doesn’t cower when he weaves a tapestry of blood, and guns, and rape, and tears. Doesn’t turn away when he explains his fear for himself, for Ian, when he reveals the wedding and pregnancy and “don’t”.

He recounts the desperation he felt while looking for Ian, and finding Ian, and having Ian. Whispers about his coming out and the brutality that followed.

He voices his frustration with the unfairness of mental illness, of being robbed of happiness, of a loving stability.

He laments about punches and “faggot”. Cries about abandonment, about not being wanted, about “yeah”.

Hates mentioning his depression and begging.

But before he’s done, before he silences his stream of words, he describes a memory he has, one that has plagued him since his and Ian’s ending.

It was a week before his life fell apart. The baby was safe in his crib. Svetlana was sleeping with Nika. And he had woken up without Ian in their bed. He ventured out of their bedroom when he saw Ian kneeling on the couch and staring out the window. A cigarette was between his fingers and Mickey watched the smoke curl in the air. Ian must have sensed him because he turned. They stared at each other in silence before Ian got up, put out the cigarette, walked over to Mickey and kissed him.

“And I knew. I just knew right then and there that it was going to end. Forever wasn’t in the cards for us.”

He stops there. Can’t say anymore.

She wraps her arms around him; he nestles his face in between her neck and shoulder. He feels her voice reverberate through him.

“Love’s a natural disaster. It’s like a tornado. You hear the sirens and you see the clouds, but it still feels surreal. But it comes. And it destroys homes and rips up lives. Afterwards, you look at the devastation and wonder how you made it out alive. But you know what people do after a tornado, Mickey? They rebuild. They shed a tear. They rummage through the debris. And they rebuild.”

Mickey hangs on to her tight and doesn’t loosen his grip until he falls asleep.

* * *

Months pass so quickly he finds it difficult to believe that it’s Christmas already. Of course it’s easy to forget it’s winter in Mesa, considering the temperature hasn’t fallen below 75 degrees in two weeks.

He waits at the bus depot, watches as a bus rolls in and his sister disembarks. They hug each other, expressing their joy through the tightness of their grips. He carries her bag and asks how the trip was while they wait for the Metro. By the time they arrive at his apartment, they’ve exchanged enough small talk to satisfy them for the rest of her visit.

Before they go in, Mickey turns to Mandy.

“Okay, so I just want to warn you. Annie can be a bit overenthusiastic. She’s planned this big meal and has been cooking since really early this morning so please be nice. She wants you to like her.”

Mandy rolls her eyes.

“Of course I’ll be nice, fuckwad. When am I not?”

They both laugh.

Mickey opens the door to what smells like a really amazing Christmas dinner. Annie diverts her attention from mashing potatoes to smile at the Milkovich siblings. Mickey makes the introductions.

“Annie, this is my sister Mandy.”

Annie wipes her hands on her apron while Mandy waves at her. Annie of course is not satisfied by this and pulls Mandy into a hug. Mandy peers over Annie’s shoulder at Mickey with clear confusion in her eyes. Mickey just shrugs. Annie finally pulls away.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you, Mandy. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Mandy nods.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about you too.”

“Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes.”

Mickey grabs two beers from the fridge and offers one to Mandy. They both sit down while Annie gets back to mashing the potatoes.

“So, how was your trip?”

“Fucking long. My ass was asleep for most of it.”

Annie laughs.

“We’re really glad you suffered through that though to come.”

Mandy quirks her eyebrow at Mickey and mouths the word “we”. Mickey rolls his eyes.

“Sorry about you having to sleep on the couch. It’s a pull out though and it’s pretty comfortable.”

“Don’t worry about it, Annie. I’ll be fine.”

Finally, it’s time to eat.

Mickey’s right. The dinner is amazing.

* * *

Mickey and Mandy take it upon themselves to clean up since Annie did the cooking. She sits at the table and they talk about the mundane.

Mickey had warned her about Mandy’s reticence. After living with him all this time, Annie understands completely.

They watch _A Christmas Story_ and Annie laughs as Mandy tells her about the time Mickey drank so much spiked eggnog at their uncle’s house he passed out in the snow after singing “Jingle Bell Rock” at the top of his lungs on the walk home. She had to drag his limp body for two blocks.

Annie eventually goes to bed after leaving blankets and a pillow for Mandy and wishing them a goodnight. The Milkovich siblings drink their beer in silence. Mandy finally breaks it by punching Mickey in the arm.

“The fuck, Mandy?”

“You playing straight again?”

Mickey shakes his head.

“No.”

“So then what’s with Suzy Homemaker? You two fucking?”

“Jesus, Mandy. No, I am not fucking her.”

“Then what?”

“She’s a friend.”

“You don’t have friends.”

“I don’t have ‘friends’. I have _a_ friend.”

“She’s nice.”

“She is.”

Mandy gets up from the couch to root around in her bag. She pulls out a dime bag and some papers and kneels on the floor to roll a joint on the coffee table. She lights it and then passes it to Mickey once she’s taken a hit. He accepts it gratefully.

“How’s Kenyatta?”

Mandy shrugs.

“Fine.”

“He still beating the shit out of you?”

Mickey has an edge to his voice when he says this. He’s waiting for her answer, knowing that if she says “yes” he’ll tie her to the fucking bed to keep her here with him and Annie.

Safe.

“Fuck you.”

She grabs the joint out from between his fingers.

“He’s not home much. I think he’s fucking around on me.”

“I’m positive he is.”

“Again, fuck you. We can’t all have a platonic companion who caters to our every whim.”

“She doesn’t cater to me.”

“Well, whatever you have going on with her, it’s weird. You’re not even getting fucking laid.”

Mickey laughs and takes the joint back.

“Who says I’m not getting laid?”

Mandy looks at him in shock.

“You said…”

“Fuck, not Annie. There’s guys here.”

“Oh. Anyone serious?”

“One. For a couple of months.”

“What happened?”

“Couldn’t give him what he wanted.”

“Which was?”

“More.”

Mandy nods and takes the joint from Mickey. He looks at her face and knows she has something to say.

“Just spit it out, Mandy. I don’t have all fucking night.”

She averts her eyes, staring at the stained carpet. He’s been meaning to rent a carpet cleaner for weeks now.

“I saw Ian a couple of days ago.”

The room darkens with tension. Mickey huffs.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

Mandy is a relentless bitch though.

“He wants you to know that he’s doing better. He’s on medication an – “

Mickey panics.

“You didn’t tell him where I am, did you?”

“Of course not. You told me not to.”

Mickey sighs.

“Good. Just…don’t tell him, okay?”

Mandy agrees. She may be Ian’s best friend, but she’s Mickey’s sister first and foremost. Blood is thicker than water and all that.

“You think you’ll ever talk to him again?”

Mickey shrugs.

“Who knows? I’ve learned not to look towards the future.”

They finish the joint and Mickey wishes her a goodnight. Just as he enters his bedroom he hears Mandy whisper.

“Are you happy?”

He closes the door.

* * *

Mandy stays with them for five days.

He and Mandy don’t talk about anything of importance for the remainder of her trip. She came all this way and neither of them want to ruin their reunion with a fight. Instead, he shows her around. They see a movie, play Call of Duty, visit Annie at work. Mandy remarks about loving their version of winter, thinks out loud about moving to Phoenix. Annie encourages her. Mickey just nods. He knows Mandy won’t do it.

Not until she has nowhere else to go.

When it’s time for Mandy to leave, to return to whatever awaits her in Indiana, Annie and Mickey see her off at the bus station. Annie hugs her goodbye, makes her promise to come back as soon as she can. Mandy agrees.

Annie moves to the side to give the siblings privacy. She knows they don’t do well with expressing their feelings in front of an audience. Mickey grips Mandy’s shoulders.

“You call me when you get back home.”

“I will.”

“And you call me if you need anything. Money, an extra set of fists, whatever.”

“I promise I will.”

They hug. She gives one last wave to Annie and moves to get on the bus. Mickey watches her.

“Mandy!”

She stops and looks at him. Mickey takes a breath.

“Yes.”

Mandy looks confused, but slowly, he sees his response dawn on her.

She gives him a small smile and a final wave.

As the bus departs, Annie throws her arm around his shoulder and kisses his cheek.

Yes.

His answer is yes.


	2. Carry Me In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Carry Me In by Cage the Elephant

Ian feels shiny.

He rolls his body and thrusts his hips to the throbbing beat of the music, letting the wave of adoration wash over him. He smiles and winks at the patrons, licking his lips, biting the lower one every once and awhile.

He knows what these men want. They want a young sexy cocky boy to drape over them, caress them, make them feel like they’re worth something. They want to get off to the hands and tongue and mouth of an Adonis.

Ian willingly gives them that. He’ll gladly hand himself over to be groped and prodded by horny overeager men because he gets something out of it too. Not orgasms – although that’s nice enough – no, he gets revered. These men idealize him past all human recognition. To them, he’s not a poor gay kid from the Southside of Chicago who sometimes went hungry while growing up. They don’t see him as defective. They don’t get that look in their eyes that says “I know you’re losing your goddamn mind.”

He’s perfect to them.

Ian lets his eyes wander the club, scoping out the potential of each possible client. He scans and weighs each option before deciding on the middle aged blond wearing an Armani suit. He makes eye contact and gives a shy smile which is eagerly returned.

Score.

Once the song is finished, he moves from his platform and practically glides to Blond Guy, making a show of running his eyes up and down the guy’s body before settling on his face. He slowly moves closer until his body is pressed against Blond Guy and his mouth is against Blond’s ear.

“I’m Ian.”

He hears Blond Guy swallow.

“Dave.”

“Want to get a private room, Dave?”

Dave nods.

Ian grabs his hand and leads him through the crowd until they reach the private rooms hidden in the back of the club. He quickly pushes Dave on the couch and straddles him, rubbing his hands over Dave’s chest.

“So what do you want, Dave?”

Dave takes a deep breath.

“What are you offering?”

Ian chuckles.

“My hands. My mouth. My cock. What’s your preference?”

Dave stutters.

“Your mouth.”

Ian leans in and puts his mouth against Dave’s ear, making sure to lower his voice.

“Is that what you want? My mouth on you?”

Dave gasps.

“My mouth’s $150, Dave.”

Dave quickly nods and pushes Ian back a bit so that he can reach his wallet. He slips the bills into Ian’s booty shorts, letting his thumb stroke Ian’s skin.

Ian slides down to his knees.

* * *

 

Afterwards, Ian rinses out his mouth in the employee bathroom and fixes his hair in the mirror before getting dressed and grabbing his things from his locker. He’s making his way to the front entrance when he feels a hand grab his arm. He’s about to snap but stops short when he sees it’s Lip. He shouts over the music.

“What are you doing here?”

“You need to get home.”

Ian looks towards the entrance where he knows Dave is waiting for him.

“I will. I promise.”

“Now, Ian.”

“First thing tomorrow…”

“It’s important.”

Ian can tell from Lip’s expression that he’s not bullshitting him. He nods and then indicates for Lip to follow him to the alleyway exit.

As they make their way to the El, Lip fills Ian in on the latest Gallagher debacle.

“Debbie’s pregnant.”

Ian whips his head to look at Lip.

“What?”

“She’s pregnant. She’s a few months along.”

“A few months? Why are you just telling me now?”

Lip stops and turns to look at Ian. His tone relays his anger.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Ian? We didn’t know where the fuck you were. You don’t answer your phone. You haven’t shown up at the house. So don’t fucking blame me for you being out of the loop. I have enough shit to deal with.”

Ian watches as his brother storms away from him.

* * *

 

By the time they walk through the front door, the tension has reached a boiling point and they witness Debbie smack Fiona. Lip immediately grabs Debbie,trying to gently pull her back as she continues to yell “fuck you” at Fiona. Ian places himself in between them and watches his sweet little sister turn into a baby-bumped stranger. Lip is the first to speak once he places Debbie into a chair.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Debbie yells.

“She told me to give the baby up for adoption.”

Fiona yells back.

“You’re too fucking young, Debbie. This baby…you’re fifteen years old.”

“Fuck you.”

“Another kid is not entering this fucking house. I can barely feed the ones already living here. I’m not having another baby dumped in my lap. You’re giving it up and that’s it.”

“Who the fuck are you to be making decisions for me?”

“I’m your fucking guardian. That’s my job.”

“Some guardian you are. Carl’s in juvie for heroin possession; you almost killed Liam with your coke; Lip’s fucking some married woman; and Ian’s lost his fucking mind and is sucking guys off for cash. Bravo, Fiona. Job well done.”

The oldest three Gallaghers stand stunned into silence at Debbie’s cruel yet accurate portrayal of their current lives.

Fiona turns her back towards them, bracing herself on the counter. Ian can see her shoulders shaking. Debbie pushes herself out of her chair, climbs up the stairs, and slams the door to her room. Lip walks over to Fiona and pulls her into a hug while gesturing for Ian to check on Debbie. Ian reluctantly does.

He hears shuffling behind Debbie’s closed door before he knocks. She doesn’t answer. He decides to chance it and goes in without being invited.

Debbie’s moving as quickly as her inflated stomach will allow, dumping clothes and other belongings into a couple of garbage bags. He watches for a bit before addressing her.

“Debbie…”

“Don’t, Ian. Just fucking…don’t.”

Ian flinches at that word.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from all of you.”

“Where are you going to live?”

“With Derek.”

“Who’s Derek?”

“My boyfriend. The baby’s father.”

Ian leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms.

“You really think he’s going to take you in?”

Debbie stops packing and looks at him.

“I’m carrying his kid, aren’t I?”

Ian laughs.

“That doesn’t mean shit nowadays, Debs.”

Debbie stares him down. Ian straightens his spine as he’s faced with an anger he’s never encountered before.

“What if I told him that my crazy brother might beat me to death with a baseball bat because he believes that the MPs are coming to kill him? Think he’ll take me in then?”

Ian’s fists clench.

“What is your fucking problem?”

Debbie yells.

“You. All of you. This family is so…just so fucked up. Someone’s always leaving or almost dying in the kitchen or fucking twenty guys at once. We live without food and water and fucking…fucking…stability. There’s nothing worthwhile here. There’s nothing but chaos and destruction and pain. And you expect me to stay here? You expect me to raise a baby here? Because if you do, Ian, then you’re fucking crazier than I thought.”

She turns away from him and continues to pack.

“Fuck you, Debbie.”

She whips around and sneers.

“No, fuck you, Ian. You know I stood up for you? I was the one who went to Mickey when he was so terrified of taking care of you. I was the one who reminded him of how much you loved each other. That your love would never go away. You made me into a liar. So fuck you for that.”

Debbie grabs her bags and pushes past Ian into the hallway. When she reaches the stairs, she turns to face him.

“I talked to Mandy. She told me what you did. About the things you did.”

Ian’s heart sinks.

“You. Fiona. Lip. You all shit on the people that love you and then wonder why you’re all alone. I did that once already. I refuse to stay here and do it again.”

Ian stands trembling in the hallway while Debbie runs for her life.

* * *

 

The Gallagher brood of six has quickly dwindled to a brood of four and the three eldest take it hard. They sit at the kitchen table drinking beer and grieving their losses. Fiona’s voice trembles when she speaks.

“She’s right, you know. I’m a shitty guardian.”

Lip sighs.

“No, you’re not. You did the best that you could. I mean, look at who our parents are. It’s not like we had much of a chance to begin with.”

Fiona rubs at her eyes.

“I fucked up so bad, Lip. Liam. Carl. Debbie.”

She pulls back her hands to reveal tears and looks towards Ian.

“You. I’ve never gone looking for you. I always…”

She starts crying heavily. Ian reaches to put his hand on her arm, but she stands up before he can and walks towards the sink. She leans against it and covers her face with her hands, openly sobbing into them. Lip and Ian remain sitting at the table, staring at her. Waiting for her to compose herself. When she does, she wipes her eyes and nose with her shirt sleeves. She takes a deep breath.

“When you took off again, I just let you go. I didn’t even…”

She clears her throat.

“When months went by, instead of going looking for you myself, I went to Mickey.”

Ian drops his gaze to his feet, feels himself start to tremble again.

“I figured he had done it before, you know? I figured that he had wanted to take care of you once so maybe…”

She starts crying again.

“I was going to leave it to somebody else. I was going to make you someone else’s responsibility. It’s not that I don’t love you, Ian. I do. I love you so much. But I’m so tired. I’ve been taking care of everyone since I was six. And I’m tired.”

Fiona is sobbing again, breath-robbing sobs that shake her brothers to their cores. Ian stands up and goes to her, pulls her close to his body and wraps her up in his arms. She clings to his shirt and cries into his shoulder. She continues to speak.

“I’m so scared, Ian. I’m so scared. I couldn’t take care of mom. I tried so hard for her. I gave so much trying to make Monica better that I can’t give anything to you.”

He wraps her up tighter until he feels her pulling away. She grabs his face tightly in her hands and in a tone of complete desperation she whispers.

“You have to make yourself better, ok? Make yourself better. Please. _Please_. I need you to. Please. Don’t make us lose you too.”

Ian looks at her and knows that no matter how long he lives he will always remember this moment.

He will always remember the tears on his sister’s face and her desperate whispered pleas.

* * *

 

Ian lies in his too small bed and listens to Liam’s steady breaths.

His mind and body are abuzz with the day, overstimulated from the dancing and crying and fucking.

Jesus.

He turns to face the wall and traces the nearest poster with his finger. The blowjob. The $150 is crammed into his wallet along with another few hundred he made tonight. Some of it for dancing. Most of it not.

He feels tears well up in his eyes as he looks down the barrel of his life. Fuck. For months he’s been swinging from mood to mood like fucking Tarzan, fucking and crying and drugging through a majority of it. But he’s been good so far. He’s been somewhat steady.

The depression eased off last month after a week long stay at St. Francis. He had been scoring some rock with a couple of guys he met somewhere – he can’t exactly remember where – and woke up in some guy’s bed, naked and filled with grief.

Depression is a fucking albatross. A fucking cement weight tied around the throat. Unless a person experiences it firsthand, they’ll never understand how difficult it is to even think about wiggling a toe.

Depression suffocates him. It holds a pillow over his face, all the while screaming about what a horrible son, brother, boyfriend, human being he is. It tallies his sins against his good deeds and the good deeds column is always embarrassingly short.

The mania on the other hand. Well, that’s another story altogether.

The elation is like the greatest high in the world times a hundred. He swears he can feel the atoms in his body vibrating with the pulse of the Earth. He’s attuned to the sky and the sun and the ocean when he’s manic. It’s beautiful and annihilating at the same time.

And the voices come.

At first they’re pure joy. Laughing and singing along with him. Enjoying the life he’s created with drugs, booze, and men. But then those hissing little fuckers slither into his brain and feed him words of self-loathing and anger. They encourage him to hurt something. Anything. Himself.

One time they convinced him that Svetlana, a woman whom he hasn’t seen in months, was out to kill him. She was jealous of what he had with Mickey. It didn’t matter to them that he had nothing with Mickey anymore. Hadn’t seen or spoken to him in however long. No, it didn’t matter to them at all. And if it didn’t matter to them, well, then it stood to reason that it shouldn’t matter to him either.

It was lucky he didn’t know where she lived. He might have truly done something horrendous.

Ian bangs his head against the wall at the thought. He’s fucked.

He’s so fucked.

He slaps his hands against his face and then tears at the poster, ripping it to pieces. He stands and starts pacing the room, not even noticing that he’s woken Liam. That Liam is watching him grip his head and rock and pace.

The thoughts in his head race at an alarming rate. He can’t grab onto any word, any thought. It’s like watching traffic whiz by on the expressway. The cars blur by and all a person feels is the stalled car shake.

His brain chooses that exact moment to short circuit. A flip of the switch. The screen goes black.

Maybe it’s protecting itself. Maybe it’s giving him time to heal. Maybe it’s just given up.

Fiona finds him standing frozen in the middle of the room, hands clenching his hair and Liam wailing in his bed behind him.

* * *

 

Ian checks himself into the hospital two hours later.


	3. Where Are You Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Where Are You Now by Mumford and Sons

Mickey’s getting fucked.

And it’s good. Really good. This guy knows what he’s doing.

Mickey clutches at the pillow in front of him with one hand while working himself with the other. In a matter of seconds, he’s coming with a punched out moan while trying to suck in a breath at the same time. The guy behind him thrusts hard and fast a couple of more times before he’s groaning, resting his forehead on Mickey’s back.

Mickey disengages himself, rolling over and reaching for the tissues on the nightstand to wipe his hand. The guy crawls to the head of the bed and lies down, staring at Mickey. Mickey looks over at him.

“What?”

The guy shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

Mickey gets up and reaches for his clothes. He can feel the guy’s eyes on him but ignores him. Once he’s dressed, he makes a move for the door before feeling the guy touch his arm. Mickey yanks his arm away and glares at him.

“What?”

The guy smiles.

“I’m Robbie by the way.”

Mickey shrugs. The guy chuckles.

“And you are?”

Mickey rolls his eyes.

“Mickey.”

Robbie reaches around him, grabbing Mickey’s phone from his back pocket. He types something in quickly and hands it back.

“I put in my number. In case you ever want to see me again, Mickey.”

Mickey doesn’t say a word. He just shows himself the way out.

 

It’s a little after two in the morning when Mickey gets home. He immediately disrobes and takes a shower before crawling into bed gently, trying not to wake Annie. He shifts around a bit before getting comfortable then lets Annie’s soft breaths lull him to sleep.

* * *

 

Mickey wakes up to the sound of _The Golden Girls_ theme song and the smell of toast. He moans and rubs his face before staggering out of bed and into the bathroom. He looks in the mirror.

Although he mostly looks the same, there have been slight changes to his face in the past year and a half. He’s a little thinner. He has a bit more color. And he doesn’t have a perpetual scowl. He looks content.

It’s shocking sometimes.

By the time he’s done in the bathroom, he can smell that breakfast is ready. Annie is already sitting at the table biting into a piece of bacon and laughing at the antics of Blanche and Rose. He makes himself a cup of coffee and sits down, digging into his eggs.

“Did you have fun last night?”

He keeps his eyes on his eggs.

“It was all right.”

“Okay.”

Annie’s learned not to pry when it comes to his sexual escapades. Although he’s not hiding the fact that he’s gay anymore, he finds it awkward talking about his sex life with someone he’s not having sex with.

There’s a brief silence before he gets irritated.

“Could we please change the channel? I swear to God, if I have to fucking hear ‘thank you for being my friend’ one more fucking time, I’m going to fucking punch something.”

Annie huffs before changing the channel to some DIY show. She smirks at him because she knows that he hates when she watches these shows. They always give her some weird ass ideas about remodeling and shit. He doesn’t know how many times he’s come home to her watching these shows and then asking him for $10,000 to remodel the kitchen of an apartment they don’t even own. Sure enough, she turns to him with a smile on her face.

“Mickey, give me $5000 to redo the bathroom.”

He stands up from the table, carrying his dishes to the sink.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just pull that extra five grand I’ve been saving out of my ass.”

“Out of your ass? Is it really that stretched out?”

He turns to her with an incredulous look on his face while she bursts out laughing.

“Jesus Christ, you need to stop talking to Mandy.”

Annie continues to laugh.

* * *

 

Mickey pays close attention as his instructor shows the class how to properly replace a carburetor. He watches intently, taking mental notes and itching to get his hands busy with completing the task himself. He’s found that he actually enjoys these classes. Working towards his certificate as an automotive technician is not something he thought he would ever do, but after obtaining his GED three months ago, it seemed like a good next step.

He still deals for Mark, but he's slowly disengaging himself from that line of business. He knows it's only a matter of time before his luck runs out. It always does.

After class ends, Mickey makes his way towards the bus stop, staring at his phone and contemplating sending a text that he may regret.

Fuck it.

He receives a reply within two minutes and takes the bus going the opposite direction from where he lives.

Mickey’s chosen to see Robbie.

 

They fuck again. And it’s as good as last time. The only difference is that Robbie offers him a beer afterwards. Offers to order dinner. Mickey refuses, dressing in record time and leaving without a goodbye.

* * *

 

Two weeks later Mickey officially has a fuck buddy. He keeps the chatting to a minimum and finds himself falling into old routines. It’s like his body and mind know that it’s in the exact same situation just with a different guy.

After one particularly rough session, one that left him sweaty and exhausted, Robbie hands him a beer without bothering to ask. Mickey takes it. He’s thirsty as hell. Of course, Robbie takes this as an invitation.

“So, who’s the guy?”

Mickey’s confused.

“What guy?”

“The guy that fucked you up so bad you can’t stomach nonsexual contact.”

Robbie would need to be more specific. He’s been fucked over by two different men in two different ways. None of which has fuck all to do with him.

“Fuck off.”

Mickey stands up and begins looking for his clothes.

“Fuck. Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

Mickey ignores him.

“It’s just…I know what it’s like, you know. I’ve been fucked over pretty recently so I know all about it. But I won’t mention it again.”

Mickey storms out.

* * *

 

Mickey slams the door when he arrives home and stomps into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge and grabbing a beer. Annie walks out of the bedroom and watches Mickey chug his beer.

“Should I leave you alone or should I sit down and listen to you rant for awhile?”

Mickey slams his beer bottle down.

“Why do people always feel the need to share their goddamn life stories? Can you tell me that?”

Annie sits down at the kitchen table. Mickey continues to yell.

“I mean, Jesus Christ, no one wants to hear your fucking sob story. No one wants to hear about the fucking torture that was your childhood or about the crazy ass motherfucker who broke your heart. Why should anyone give a shit? It’s not like talking about it changes it. It’s still fucking there, you know? It still fucking walks around with you, chasing your every goddamn step. Why the fuck should you bring it up? What does it matter now?”

Annie follows Mickey with her eyes as he paces back and forth.

“And then this motherfucker right here wants to fucking tell me he’s been fucked over too. Like I give a shit. Like we’re supposed to fucking bond over getting our minds fucked with. Fuck that mess. Who needs it?”

Mickey turns to Annie then.

“Say something. Tell me I’m right.”

Annie takes a deep breath.

“You’re wrong.”

“Fuck you.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Would you at least listen to the reasons why you’re wrong?”

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms.

“It does matter. All of it. Your dad did horrific, unforgivable things. You did some not so good things. And Ian…well, he did awful things too. People need to talk about these things though. Because it’s too painful to hold it in. And that pain will control us and will define us. And who wants to be held hostage like that?”

Mickey rubs his eyes. Annie continues.

“I know you were fed that trash about sharing being weak. But it’s not true. That hate you were raised on, none of it is true.”

Mickey softly replies.

“How am I supposed to believe that, Annie, when everyone I ever loved has told me I’m trash?”

She stands up and walks over to him, wrapping him in her arms. She whispers in his ear.

“I love you. And you’re not trash.”

Annie holds him while he cries.

* * *

 

Mickey shows up to Robbie’s apartment uninvited. Robbie doesn’t even hesitate to let him in.

The willing acceptance unnerves Mickey.

He takes a giant swig of the offered beer for liquid courage.

“About the other day…”

Robbie pacifies him.

“Don’t worry about it. I was being nosy. It’s really none of my business.”

“No, it’s…I was in a relationship. It turned out to be bullshit. So…I’m not looking for that anymore.”

Robbie nods.

“Trust me, dude, neither am I.”

He runs his hand through his brown hair and continues.

“I was with this guy. Julio. He had just started as a bartender at this new restaurant. One night it gets to be 3am and he’s still not home. His shift ended at one. I’m worried, you know? So I call the restaurant. Introduce myself as his boyfriend. The host that answered said, ‘oh, I thought he just left with his boyfriend'.”

Mickey snorts.

“So I call him. He doesn’t answer. I text him ‘are you cheating on me?’ He replies a minute later that he’s on his way home. He gets here and admits that yeah, he’s been seeing someone else for the past two months. Met him at the restaurant. Some waiter. He threw nine fucking years away over some waiter. Can you believe that shit?”

Mickey nods and takes a sip of his beer. Robbie tilts his head.

“What about you? What did your guy do?”

Mickey chuckles.

“What didn’t he do? Cheated on me. Kidnapped my kid. Wouldn’t fucking get out of bed for weeks.”

Robbie looks confused so Mickey explains further.

“He’s got Bipolar Disorder. Nearly took his sister’s head off with a baseball bat because he thought she was an MP. Had him committed. Took care of him. Then one day he decided he didn’t want me anymore. And that was that.”

Robbie leans against the counter and crosses his arms.

“Isn’t it amazing? How they can want you with all of their heart and then not?”

Robbie pauses and sighs. He raises his beer bottle then.

“To the heartless shit stains we once loved.”

Mickey raises his bottle as well. They both take a drink. Robbie looks at Mickey.

“I wouldn’t mind another friend.”

Mickey gives a small smile.

So friends then.

* * *

 

That night Mickey dreams of Ian.

He hasn’t in so long, but talking about him, dredging up all of the shit at the bottom of that murky lake has resurrected that person he so haphazardly drowned.

The dream is nothing significant.

Just them. Just stares. No touching. No words.

It leaves him with such a sense of bereavement.

* * *

 

He and Robbie continue to hang out.

There’s nothing sexual between them anymore, but surprisingly, that doesn’t bother Mickey. He finds it weird then shrugs it off and chalks it up to almost two years of change.

He introduces Robbie to Annie and suddenly it’s the three of them. It’s them starting to move on from various pains through whatever little urban family shit this is.

They celebrate when Mickey receives his certificate. Annie cooks an elaborate dinner, and Robbie sings a drunken version of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” when she brings out the cake for dessert. Because Mickey is drunk too, he laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation he’s in. Trying has actually worked out for him. He wasn’t expecting it.

He’s pleasantly surprised.

* * *

 

Mickey’s leaving work when he receives a phone call from Mandy. He doesn’t even have a chance to utter a greeting before he hears his sister’s voice smaller than it’s ever been. His heart clenches and his stomach drops.

“What happened?”

Mandy’s crying.

“I left. I had to wait until he went to work, but I left.”

“Where are you?”

He’s already thinking about how quickly he can get to Indiana.

“I’m at a bus station. I don’t have any money. Can you buy my ticket? I want to come out to you.”

“Jesus Christ, of course. Hang on.”

He holds his phone between his ear and shoulder while he fumbles with his wallet. He takes out his credit card and reads the numbers to the ticket seller that Mandy passes the phone too. He waits for his sister to get back on the phone.

“How bad are you hurt?”

“Not bad. Bruises. A black eye. Busted lip.”

“Not bad? Fucking hell, Mandy…”

“I just want to get out of here. My bus leaves in an hour. Stay on the phone with me?”

Mickey does.

* * *

 

He tells Annie Mandy’s coming to stay with them. That she’ll be here in a few days. He doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t have to.

Annie already knows the rest.


	4. For Everything A Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from For Everything A Reason by Carina Round

Ian’s holding a cigarette, not paying attention to the growing ash at the end as he stares at the cement.

He sits on a bench, a light breeze rustling his hair as he waits for the bus. The bus that will bring his prodigal best friend.

He watches as ants hurry along in the cracks of the cement and thinks about the fact that he is finally dragging himself out from the gutter. He attends GED classes. He works at the diner with Fiona and as a cashier at a gas station three blocks from home. He’s figured out his medication. Sees his psychiatrist every three months. Did counseling for a year. For all intents and purposes, he’s rebuilt his life after having razed it to the ground. Razed him and Mickey to the ground.

Mickey.

Mickey who left almost two years ago. Mickey, whom he tried to track down after Fiona told him that he hadn’t been there when she went to his house, had his phone disconnected when she called. He had found Mandy instead. He now had to rely on her to deliver messages. His new phone number. Stories of his life.

A shadow darkens the sidewalk at his feet and he looks up to see Mandy, busted lip and all. He smiles, throws the unsmoked cigarette on the ground, and stands up to hug her, squeezing tight. She’s here.

And now she’s safe.

They walk into the bus station, not saying a word until they claim a small table by the window, both briefly staring at the people boarding a bus to Washington, D.C. Ian turns to her with a look of concern.

“How are you feeling?”

“Relieved. I’m out of there, you know?”

Ian nods.

“So where are you going?”

“Phoenix.”

Ian’s confused.

“What’s out there?”

Mandy looks out the window and then back at him.

“A friend. I’m going to be staying with her for awhile.”

“Not coming back to Chicago?”

Mandy shakes her head.

“Nah. Nothing good for me there. Too many shitty memories.”

There’s a brief pause before she continues.

“How are you doing?”

Ian takes a breath.

“Good. Better.”

He chuckles.

“I can’t believe I’m saying that. I didn’t think I ever would. But the meds got straightened up. A lot of adjusting, but my psychiatrist and I worked it out. So…”

Mandy smiles.

“I’m glad.”

Awkward silence ensues until Ian broaches the subject he’s been itching to.

“Have you talked to him?”

“He paid for my bus ticket.”

“I guess that means he’s doing well.”

Mandy nods.

“You’re not going to tell me where he is, are you?”

Mandy shakes her head.

“Why not?”

“Because he asked me not to.”

Ian looks out the window and tries to hold back the tears welling in his eyes. He clears his throat.

“Can you tell him that I’m doing better? That I quit the club. I take my meds religiously. I’m not seeing –"

Mandy interrupts.

“I tried, Ian. He didn’t –"

Ian slams his hand on the table, making Mandy jump. He raises his voice.

“Then keep trying.”

Mandy harshly whispers.

“Jesus Christ, will you calm the fuck down? For fuck’s sake, Ian, I tried, okay, but he didn’t want to hear about you. It’s been almost two years. Why can’t you let this the fuck go?”

“Because I love him.”

“Then why did you break up with him? Huh? Why didn’t _you_ keep trying?”

Ian takes a breath and stares at his clasped hands.

“Because I was killing him.”

He looks up to see a confused Mandy.

“I was sick and I wasn’t getting better, and it was killing him. I could see it, Mandy. Every time I looked at him, I could see what I was doing. And…how do you kill the love of your life without killing yourself in the process?”

Mandy snorts.

“What a fucking cop out.”

Ian stares at her.

“All you had to do was go to the doctor. Take your fucking meds. If you’d done that, you wouldn’t be sitting here now, begging me for information about him.”

Ian feels flush with guilt. Mandy stares at him and then rubs a hand over her mouth, briefly covering it before speaking.

“I hated you, you know.”

Ian’s heart quickens. Mandy puts her hands in her lap and leans back in her chair.

“I did. When Mickey called me, I knew immediately what the call was about. I know the sound of a broken heart.”

Mandy tears up and then leans forward to look Ian directly in the eye.

“You have any idea how hard it was to hear my strong brother crumble over a boy? My brother who would take the beatings from our dad for me when he could. My brother who did everything to take care of an ungrateful family. My brother who loved a boy who didn’t love him back.”

She pounds her chest.

“My brother.”

She sniffs and gives a tearful laugh.

“I honestly didn’t know what to say to him. I’ve never been good with sharing any feeling besides anger. None of us have. It’s the byproduct of being abused all our lives. Emotions imply weakness and weakness means beatings. We are not weak.

The only comfort I could offer was to listen while he rehashed the last couple of months of your relationship. How your disorder escalated after I left. How he tried to take care of you, to keep you safe, to keep you going. How it was thrown back in his face as evidence that he didn’t love you. And I wanted to tell him that it was the Bipolar Disorder talking. That you loved him. That you would never hurt him. I couldn’t though. I didn’t know if it was true and I knew it would only destroy him even more when it turned out to be a lie.

The drinking and drugs got really bad for a while. And I was just waiting for that phone call from Iggy. You know. That two o’clock in the morning phone call. The one that makes everyone’s heart stop.

But it didn’t come. And then he left. And he got better. He became happy.

And then I didn’t hate you so much anymore. Because I thought it was for the best. I thought that you breaking up with him was actually a good thing. Really the kindest thing because from what you’ve told me it would’ve ended anyway. It just would’ve ended worse. So you did the right thing, ripping off that band aid.

But now here you are, asking me to put my brother through all of that shit again. And I don’t know whether I should admire your unwavering spirit or be pissed off at your nerve. Maybe a bit of both.”

Mandy slumps back in her chair, seemingly exhausted by her emotional confession. Ian takes this opportunity to plead his case.

“You know, I dream about him.”

She looks at him with doubt in her eyes.

“I do. It’s always little things. Like him walking through the door at work or him handing me a cigarette. We never say anything to each other.”

Ian looks out the window.

“There is one dream I’ve had a lot though. I think it’s because I love it so much. We’re at your house. And we’re just sitting at the kitchen table. He’s smoking, and it’s really early. I don’t know how I know that; I guess because it’s so quiet. But it’s us sitting there with me watching him smoke and then he looks up.”

There are tears in his eyes now.

“And he smiles. He fucking smiles. And Jesus Christ, Mandy, he’s so fucking beautiful. And then I wake up. I always wake up and it’s not real.”

He sniffs and gives a watery laugh.

“But that’s my own fucking fault, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He wipes his eyes and looks at her.

“I know I’m asking for something I don’t deserve. I pulled a lot of shit; I know that, but I have to try and fix it. I love him too much to not try.”

“Maybe you should’ve tried when it mattered.”

Ian remains silent. Mandy glances out the window.

“My bus is going to leave in a few minutes.”

He walks with her, and when they reach the bus, Mandy turns to him.

“I will mention you once. Just once more. And if he refuses to listen, I will never mention you to him again.”

Ian nods and hugs her.

“Thank you.”

She gets on the bus, and as Ian watches it drive away, he struggles to make peace with the fact that his fate is in her hands.

* * *

 

Ian picks up Liam from kindergarten and walks him home.

He enjoys the time he gets to spend with his little brother, the only one who doesn’t look at him with a strange mixture of wariness and sympathy in his eyes.

After what happened, after Ian self-admitted to the hospital, after he was discharged with medication and a psychiatrist appointment, he returned home to find that Fiona had moved Liam into her bedroom. She said it was so Ian could rest without disruptions. That he probably needed his own room. It was time.

It was bullshit.

Fiona didn’t trust him with Liam anymore. With the kidnapping of Yevgeny still fresh in her mind, she was afraid to leave them alone together. She wasn’t willing to risk something happening to Liam. The kid had been through enough.

He resented this, but after he went off his meds that one time and came to believe that Fiona was trying to poison him, he understood.

It took months for her and Lip to become comfortable with him babysitting Liam, and even now there’s still that trepidation. He has to call Fiona when he picks him up and call when they get to the house and then Liam has to talk to her. There are to be no pit stops, no detours.

It’s like probation.

Today after speaking with Fiona, Ian fixes Liam a snack and listens as he prattles on about his friend Manny and their race to see who the fastest runner was. Liam won. They review colors and ABC’s before Liam is dismissed to watch _Curious George_ and Ian starts on his own homework. He’s halfway done when Lip strolls through the door with pans of food from work.

“Hey.”

Ian nods at his brother and continues with his homework.

“What are you working on?”

“Science. It sucks.”

Lip chuckles.

“You want help?”

Ian shakes his head.

“No, I got it.”

Lip nods and works on placing the food in the fridge. They’ve been walking on eggshells for four months now after Lip got drunk and told Ian exactly what he thought of him. Of the tears Lip’s cried for his brother. Of the fear he lives in that he will lose him entirely to a disease that Ian struggles to control.

Ian knew this. Of course he knew about the chaos he brought to an already chaotic family. But knowing and hearing are two different things. Lip apologized afterwards, but the damage was done.

“Debbie posted another picture of the baby on Facebook.”

Lip shows Ian the picture of their nephew whom they’ve never met. Fiona was able to barter a tentative truce a few months after Debbie left, but they only communicate through text and Facebook. Debbie’s not willing to visit and they haven’t pushed. Lip tried once, but all it did was make Debbie refuse to speak to them for a couple of months. So they wait.

It’s a terrible position.

And Carl.

Motherfucking Carl. Back in juvie for another ten months. This time for “being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” This, of course, is Carl-speak for being picked up while holding six grams of coke.

Their family can’t catch a fucking break to save their lives.

Ian taps his pencil on his textbook, contemplating telling Lip about Mandy. Might as well.

“I saw Mandy a few days ago.”

Lip looks over at Ian from where he’s been washing the dishes.

“She’s back in Chicago?”

“No. She was on her way to Phoenix. She left Kenyatta.”

“Good for her.”

“Yeah.”

Lip cocks his head.

“What’s in Phoenix?”

“Some friend of hers that she’s going to stay with.”

“I didn’t know you still talked to her.”

Ian shrugs.

“Sometimes.”

Ian hesitates but continues.

“I talked to her about Mickey.”

Ian can feel the tension build in the room. Lip turns off the faucet and walks to the table before sitting down.

“Why?”

“Just wanted to know how he was doing.”

Lip scoffs.

“So tell me, what prison is he in?”

Ian glares at him.

“Fuck you. He’s doing really well actually. He got his GED and he’s working as a mechanic. He even paid for Mandy’s ticket.”

“So what? You going to run to where he is? Rekindle the magic?”

“And what if I do? What the fuck does it got to do with you?”

Lip stands up and yells.

“Seriously? You going to take off again? Things are actually starting to work out for you, and you’re just going to throw it away because of someone that may or may not want you? It’s been like two years. Why the fuck do you keep that candle burning?”

Ian stands as well and yells back.

“I don’t need your fucking permission to do anything. I made a mistake. I fucked up and I want to fix it.”

“Then what are you sticking around here for? You want to leave so fucking bad then fucking go. We’re used to seeing your back.”

“Fuck you. This isn’t about you. This is about me and what I want. I’ve lost so much because of this fucking disease and –"

“We all have. Why should you be so fucking special? Why do you get to run away and leave us holding the bag, huh? Haven’t you put us through enough yet?”

“What the fuck is going on?”

They both turn to see Fiona standing by the back door. Lip wipes his face.

“Nothing. We’re done.”

He looks directly at Ian.

“You want to run off and go back to the bullshit that was you and Mickey? Fine. Fucking fine. But I’m not going to stand around and watch you do it.”

With that, Lip storms out of the house.

* * *

 

Ian can’t sleep.

He lies in bed and stares at his ceiling, counting the water spots and wondering when the roof will finally start to cave in. Can’t be long now.

He sits up when he hears his door open and sees Fiona peeking into his room. She doesn’t seem surprised to find him still awake. She walks in and sits cross-legged on his bed. She stares at him while biting her lip and reminding him so much of Mickey that he has to look away. Finally, she whispers so as not to disrupt the night air.

“What was that about today?”

“Lip’s angry.”

“About Mickey?”

Ian nods.

“You two getting back together?”

Ian snorts.

“I don’t even know where he is.”

“So then why is Lip mad?”

“Because I’ve been talking to Mandy about Mickey.”

“And?”

“And I’ve been having her pass along messages to him, hoping that maybe he’ll want to talk.”

Ian gives a sad smile.

“But he doesn’t even want to listen. Mandy says he’s doing really well. He’s happy.”

He swallows and looks at his hands.

“Does it make me a bad person if I hate that he’s happy without me?”

“I think it makes you human.”

He softly chuckles.

“Bad people _are_ human.”

Fiona sighs and softly brushes Ian’s cheek, wiping away tears he didn’t know were there. She pulls him into her arms and he feels like a child again. This is what he will always remember about Fiona. Her tendency to coddle away their pain. She did it when they were kids and skinned their knees and she does it now when they’re adults and watching their lives fall apart.

“I know you’re trying to fix everything you broke when you weren’t on meds. And I think you’ve done such a great job piecing everything together. I’m proud of you for that. But I think some things can’t be fixed. And I don’t want you putting your life on hold on the off chance that someone you haven’t seen in two years will come back.”

Ian clings to her and holds in his sobs.

She’s right. She’s fucking right.

But he can’t bring himself to care.

* * *

 

Ian waits.

And he waits.

And he waits.

But he doesn’t hear from Mandy and the anxiety is becoming unbearable.

One day he contacts her, tells her he wants to send a birthday gift, asks for her address. She gives it to him.

He doesn’t tell her that her gift is him.

* * *

 

The address Mandy gave him is not an apartment building. It’s a restaurant.

And he’s immensely confused. He’s also fucking exhausted.

He had been able to finagle four days off from work which compared to telling Fiona his plan to go to Phoenix was a cake walk. She had been surprised and then frightened, her eyes becoming wide when he told her that he bought an airline ticket with the money he had been saving “for a special occasion”. What he hadn’t told her is that the “special occasion” was if Mickey ever changed his mind, he could be wherever Mickey was within a couple of hours.

He's so fucking pathetic.

Fiona, being unable to change Ian’s mind, called on Lip for back up.

That was a mistake.

Lip ranted for twenty minutes about what a bad idea it was for Ian to just leave to Phoenix without any planning ahead of time and hinted about a possible manic episode.

This wasn’t mania though. Ian knew all about mania and this wasn’t it. This was Ian wanting to take back a little control. This was him wanting to breathe, away from the suffocation of his family for five goddamn minutes. This was him not being afraid anymore.

So he left, hugging Fiona goodbye at Midway, promising to call her when he landed. He shells out for a cab when he gets to Sky Harbor and now finds himself wondering why Mandy would give him an address to a restaurant. He walks in and sees a girl with medium length brown hair and bangs standing at the entrance behind a podium. He makes his way over, giving her a smile. She smiles back.

“Hello. How many?”

“Oh, I’m actually wondering, does Mandy Milkovich work here by any chance?”

The girl furrows her brow.

“Can I ask your name?”

“Ian. Gallagher. I’m a friend of hers from Chicago.”

At the mention of his name, he notices a slight flinch which she quickly hides by looking down at her computer. She looks up again and forces a smile.

“Can you wait here? I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.”

She walks away and he looks around the restaurant, noting that it’s a relatively nice place. Within minutes, Mandy and the girl are approaching him, whispering to each other rather animatedly. He smiles when Mandy stops in front of him.

“Surprise.”

She gives a tight smile.

“What are you doing here?”

Ian shrugs.

“Told you I was sending a gift.”

He notices a tension between Mandy and the girl who is staring at her computer, trying very hard to not appear interested in their conversation. He looks from Mandy to the girl and back again. Mandy startles slightly.

“Yeah, sorry. Annie, this is Ian. Ian, this is Annie. My roommate.”

Annie looks up and gives a small wave before returning to her computer. She must be writing the next great American novel judging by the intensity of her focus. Ian turns back to Mandy.

“I know this is sort of a jackass move, but do you happen to have room for me on your couch?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Annie still and glance quickly at Mandy. Mandy appears apprehensive.

“Annie’s got her brother staying with us for a bit. I know there’s a motel down the street though. I can take my break; walk you over.”

Ian tries to hide his disappointment and nods. Mandy tells him to give her a minute to grab her purse, leaving him alone with Annie. He attempts to make conversation.

“It was really awesome how you took Mandy in. Thanks for taking care of her.”

Annie glances up at him with a look of what he would label retribution.

“That’s what you do for the people you love. You take care of each other.”

Those particular words form a pit in his stomach. To his relief, Mandy arrives and they make their way to the motel.

He feels Annie’s eyes on them as they walk out the door.

* * *

 

Mandy takes him to a motel about three blocks from where she works.

He tries to start small talk on the way there, but Mandy’s not receptive so he stops. They briefly argue over who’s going to pay the motel bill for the next few days with Mandy feeling slightly guilty for not letting Ian stay with her and Ian feeling embarrassed for assuming he would be staying with her. They agree to split it.

After seeing that he’s settle in his room and stating that she’ll return when her shift is done in a couple of hours, Mandy leaves. Ian sits on the bed and looks over his surroundings. Even though he hasn’t seen the inside of a motel room in over a year, there’s still a twinge of anxiety, a sense of déjà vu. He reminds himself that he won’t be doing anything to be ashamed of, that there’s no man in the bathroom who plans on fucking or being fucked.

Ian rubs his hands over his face and through his hair before going into the bathroom. He showers, standing under the spray until the water runs cold and goosebumps appear on his skin. He walks out of the bathroom and digs through his duffel bag for clean clothes. When he’s dressed, he turns on the TV and lies down.

He falls asleep quickly.

 

Ian awakes to knocking at his door. He hurries to answer it and smiles when he sees Mandy standing on the other side holding bags of take out and a six pack of beer. He closes the door as she starts unpacking the bags and placing cartons on the table.

“Smells good. Where’d you go?”

“Got this from work. Great thing about working at a restaurant is the discount and having friends who are cooks. I brought a shit ton of food so eat the fuck up.”

They eat in silence for a bit with Ian throwing casual looks at her every once and a while and Mandy pretending like she doesn’t see them. Finally, she breaks the silence.

“Why did you come?”

Ian picks at his food, avoiding Mandy’s eyes, and shrugs.

“Wanted to see you.”

“And?”

Ian looks at her.

“It’s nice to be out of Chicago for a bit.”

Mandy looks away and nods. She turns back to him.

“Want to watch TV?”

They move to the bed and watch _Seinfeld_ before switching to _Family Guy_. The tension between them slowly dissipates as the hours go by and the beer gets drunk. Eventually, they reach a feeling of camaraderie, laughing and teasing to the point of hysterics.

Ian realizes how much he’s missed his best friend.

* * *

 

They wake up a little after 11 with Mandy stumbling to the bathroom and Ian rolling over onto his stomach.

He hears the shower running and buries his face in the pillow, drifting off again. He wakes to a slap on the back of the head.

“Get up. Come on. You wasted a shitload of money if you came here just to sleep.”

Ian drags himself out of bed and showers and dresses. By the time he’s done, Mandy is anxious to get a move on. They hop a bus to Downtown Phoenix which does not impress Ian in the slightest. Mandy agrees that compared to Chicago, Phoenix is sorely lacking, but it’s Friday and thereby food truck day which according to her is a cause for excitement.

They buy food and walk to a park near the Capitol building. They make up lives about the important looking people hurrying by. Ian spits out a bite of his food while laughing when Mandy points out a portly gentlemen whom she believes likes an egg shoved up his ass by a dominatrix who flogs him and yells that he’s a bad chicken.

Finally, they start to talk about their lives. Mandy tells him about her GED classes and her plans to attend cosmetology school once she’s done. Ian doesn’t know what he wants to study yet so he’s just been taking general electives at Daley until he figures it out. He then broaches a topic that’s been bothering him a bit since yesterday.

“Annie seems nice.”

Mandy nods.

“She is. She’s a really good friend.”

“I get the feeling that she didn’t like me much.”

Mandy stills and looks at her feet.

“Why’d you say that?”

Ian shrugs.

“I don’t know. She just seemed a little tense around me. Like she didn’t want me around or something.”

Mandy gives a quick, small smile.

“She’s just really protective.”

Ian furrows his brow.

“But why –"

Mandy stands.

“You ready to go? If we leave now, I can walk back with you before I head to work.”

Ian nods.

When they get back to his motel, Mandy says that she’ll drop by tomorrow after her lunch shift.

He watches her go.

* * *

 

Ian wakes with a heart-pounding start when he hears banging at his door.

He trips over his shoes in his rush to answer. He yanks it open to find Mandy, out of breath and a little bit sweaty.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Mandy doesn’t say a word, just pushes past him into the room. He shuts the door and looks at the clock on the nightstand. It’s 1:32 in the morning.

“Mandy –"

“I need to tell you something.”

Ian nods.

“Okay.”

Mandy starts to pace a bit before Ian grabs her and sits her down on the bed. He sits down next to her, but she pops back up to stand in front of him.

“Mandy, you’re freaking me out. What?”

Mandy takes a deep breath.

“I came to Phoenix because of Mickey.”

Ian freezes. Mandy continues.

“When I told you that I’m living with Annie, it’s true, I am…just…I live with Mickey too. Annie and Mickey took me in. Mickey lives here.”

Ian stares at Mandy, not knowing what to say.

 _Mickey_ is here. Mickey is _here_.

Before Ian can respond, Mandy drops the atomic bomb.

“I mentioned you to him. The once. Like I said.”

He swallows.

“Ian…”

He looks away.

“He listened.”


	5. Long & Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Long & Lost by Florence + The Machine

Mickey’s smoking a cigarette.

He’s sitting at a table outside some hipster café near the ASU campus and contemplating the fucked up turn of events. When Mandy came to him with news of Ian, he started to tune her out like he always did, cutting off secondary descriptions of his new life. But then…

But then she told him that Ian was here.

In Phoenix.

In his city.

And Mickey panicked.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. They weren’t supposed to see each other ever again. That’s what Mickey had prepared for. Not this.

Definitely not this.

He listened while Mandy detailed Ian’s life of school and work, medication and psychiatric appointments. He swallowed back bile when he heard that Ian wasn’t seeing anyone. That he was still in love with Mickey.

Mandy followed him around the apartment while Annie looked on in uncertainty and intrigue, demanding that he speak to Ian. She was tired of being the go-between. She had deterred Ian for as long as she could, but now Mickey had to step up. Even if it was just to end it.

Once and for all.

Mickey relented. He agreed to meet with Ian, to hear what he had to say before he…

Fuck. Before he what?

He’s pulled out of his reverie by Robbie sitting down across from him and placing a cup of coffee on the table.

“So, what’s the crisis?”

“Ian’s here. In Phoenix.”

“Fuck. How’d he find out where you were?”

“He didn’t. He came here to see Mandy.”

Robbie nods.

“I take it there’s more to this story.”

Mickey rubs his face.

“He’s been trying to get messages to me for a while now through Mandy. Always wanting me to know how much better he’s doing, how he’s got his shit straightened out. Mandy told him that I live here too, and now he wants to meet. To talk or some shit. I don’t know.”

“What’d you say?”

Mickey flinches.

“I agreed to see him.”

“And now you’re having second thoughts.”

Mickey nods and takes a breath.

“I haven’t seen him in over two years. What the fuck could we have to say to each other?”

Robbie snorts.

“Fucking plenty. Jesus, Mickey, with all of the shit that went down and your atheistic views on love and relationships, you have fucking years of conversations.”

“So what, I’m supposed to get closure or some shit like that? That going to make everything better?”

Robbie shrugs.

“Some people think closure’s important.”

“Yeah, well…”

Mickey looks at his hands and then back at Robbie.

“If Julio wanted to meet, would you go?”

Robbie looks away from Mickey and bites his lip.

“I’d like to say ‘no’, but I’m not sure. It’s hard to turn away from the person you thought you were going to spend your life with.”

Mickey remains silent. Robbie turns to look at him.

“What are you going to do?”

Mickey licks his lips. He doesn’t know.

* * *

 

Ian paces back and forth in his motel room.

Every once and awhile he goes to the bathroom and checks how he looks, straightening his shirt and smoothing back his hair with shaky hands. He’s so fucking nervous.

When Mandy told him that Mickey agreed to meet with him, he felt his heart clench and his stomach drop. He hadn’t gotten his hopes up when he had Mandy ask, too afraid to count on something he deemed unattainable. But now here he is, waiting for Mickey to knock on his door.

Ian had been practicing what he was going to say for hours now. He’s got one chance to plead his case to Mickey. One chance to keep his attention. He can’t fuck this up.

He gets more and more nervous as six pm approaches. Mickey will be here at six. His palms are sweaty. He has to keep wiping them on his jeans.

Six o’clock rolls around.

Six seventeen.

Six thirty-three.

Six fifty-seven.

Ian wipes his eyes.

Mickey’s not coming.

* * *

 

Mickey stands across the street from the motel with unsteady legs and breath.

He’s been standing outside for over an hour now, vacillating as to whether he should actually go or not. He’s such a coward. But it’s hard to walk across cinders knowing that no matter how fast you move, you’re still going to feel the sting of pain.

And he’s tired of pain.

He wipes a hand over his mouth.

Fuck.

* * *

 

Ian lies in the bathtub, head back and eyes closed.

The water is tepid now and a chill is starting to run through him, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pay it any mind. The tears have dried on his face; he can feel the tightness on his cheeks. Tastes the salt on his lips.

It’s all so ridiculous. This hurt. This coagulation of regret, and misery, and utter devastation. He takes a shaky breath, feels the prick of tears again.

_This wallowing won’t do._

He can hear his former counselor in his head, her voice penetrating through the fog of grief. It’s what she said to him once, over a year ago, when he was focusing on everything that had gone wrong in his life. He ruminated on his shortcomings, his failures. He remembers so clearly what she told him, can see her facial expressions.

_It’s an everlasting disappointment, losing what you lost. And it’s okay to grieve for WestPoint, and the army, and Mickey, and all of the rest of it. But, Ian, this wallowing won’t do. You can’t consider yourself a failure if you keep trying. Trying is not failing._

He wishes he could believe her now.

 

After he worked up the energy to climb out of the tub and dry himself off, he slowly puts his belongings into his bag. His bus leaves at 7:30 tomorrow morning.

Just as he’s putting his shirt on, there’s a knock on his door. Ian checks the clock.

9:08.

He walks over towards the door, unlocks it, and turns the knob. The hair on his arms raises and his breath catches.

Mickey.

* * *

 

Mickey’s sure that his expression is similar to the one on Ian’s face.

Shock.

And a little fear.

He fidgets awkwardly under Ian’s gaze, not saying anything until Ian jolts and moves to the side to let Mickey in. He keeps his back to Ian while he closes the door. Looks around the room. Notes the duffel bag on the bed. He doesn’t turn to face Ian until he speaks.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Neither did I.”

Mickey feels the tremors of tension move through the room. He swears he can feel the vibrations of nervousness Ian’s emitting. Mickey sighs.

“Mandy said you wanted to talk.”

Ian remains still. He’s just staring at Mickey and it’s making him uncomfortable.

“Ian?”

He nods.

“Yeah. Yeah…I…uh…”

Ian moves around him and over towards the mini-fridge. Opens it.

“You want something to drink? Sorry, I only have a water bottle and a can of pop.”

Mickey shakes his head, but Ian is too busy looking at the meager contents of the mini- fridge to see. He takes out the can of pop and hands it to Mickey after closing the door.

“Sorry I don’t have anything stronger.”

Mickey places the can down on the top of the fridge.

“It’s fine. I’m not thirsty.”

“I didn’t think to ge –"

“Jesus Christ, Ian, I don’t give a shit.”

The frustration in Mickey’s tone is evident. He just wants to get this shit over with and Ian is taking his sweet goddamn time with whatever this is. He has half a mind to just fucking leave until Ian finally wises up. Ian rubs his hands over his face and through his hair.

“Fuck. Sorry. You just caught me off guard.”

Mickey understands. He was supposed to be here three hours ago. He would have written him off too.

“Don’t worry about it.”

They stare at each other until Mickey breaks the silence. He needs this conversation to keep moving.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

Ian gestures for Mickey to sit on the bed. He chooses a chair at the table instead. Ian gives a nervous laugh.

“I had this whole speech prepared. I can’t fucking remember it now.”

Mickey scratches his forehead and sighs.

“Give me the highlights then.”

Ian nods.

“I’m sorry.”

Mickey looks at his hands.

“You have no idea how sorry I am, Mickey. For everything. For all of the bullshit I put you through. I made a mess of a lot of things, and I blamed you for some of it. That wasn’t fair. Everything I put on you was really about me, and I’m sorry. Jesus, I think about eve –"

“Apology accepted.”

Ian looks at Mickey in shock.

“What?”

Mickey stands up.

“Look. We both pulled a lot of shit. We both fucked each other up. God knows I carry my fair share of the blame. So, apology accepted.”

He knows he’s being way too diplomatic judging by Ian’s expression. But frankly, Mickey cannot stand to hear an apology. He doesn’t fucking want an apology. To him, “sorry” means shit. He’d rather just fucking tell Ian he’s forgiven for whatever the fuck and fucking go. He has no desire to listen to lip service.

As he starts to inch towards the door, he notices Ian’s jaw clench. And he knows what’s coming.

“What the fuck?”

Mickey steels himself.

“What the fuck, Mickey? Apology accepted? Fuck you.”

“Isn’t that what you want me to say? Isn’t that why you fucking asked to meet? So that you can say your sorries and get closure or fucking whatever? Isn’t it?”

Ian looks around the room like the answer is somewhere hidden. Mickey continues.

“Listen, if my forgiveness is what you need to move on or get better or whatever, then you have it. Okay? So…so everything’s good.”

Mickey then walks to the door, but before he even has his hand on the doorknob, he’s spun around and slammed against the door. Motherfucker.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem? My fucking problem is you being an asshole, Mickey. I’m fucking trying to –"

Mickey pushes Ian away from him.

“To what, Ian? Make everything all better? You come all the way from Chicago to lick my wounds for me? Because I got to tell you, man, you’re a little too fucking late for that.”

The second these words leave his mouth, Mickey regrets them.

“Mickey…”

“What do you want from me? I mean, what are you hoping to get out of this?”

“You.”

And Ian looks so blisteringly desperate, that Mickey knows it’s not a lie. Mickey looks away from him.

“I want you. I have spent the past two years wanting you. I know everything I did was fucked up and that I don’t deserve another chance, but I want one. I want to show you that I’m better. I’m taking my medication every day on time. I haven’t skipped any dosages. I see my psychiatrist every three months. I’m going to school, and I’m working. I’m rebuilding my life, and I want you in it. I want you, and –"

“For how long?”

“What?”

Mickey feels his blood pressure begin to rise along with his voice.

“For how long, Ian? How long are you going to want me? For as long as you’re on the meds? Or until you find another guy who gives you a second look or a few bucks? Tell me. How fucking long are you going to want me this time?”

Ian looks like he wants to be sick, and Mickey feels perversely triumphant. So he keeps going.

“You want to apologize for the fucked up shit you pulled? Fine. But I think that requires you understanding exactly what it is you put me through. All of the fucking fear I felt every time you disappeared and I had to hunt your ass down. The desperation I lived with whenever you couldn’t get out of bed. Or the anger I pushed down whenever I thought about you fucking around on me. With how many guys, Ian? Tell me, how many guys did you fuck and suck behind my back? I never did get the number. So fucking tell me now. How many guys did you get off, huh? How many guys did you pull out of before you came home and bent me over?”

He yells in Ian’s face.

“Fucking tell me, you piece of shit. Tell me.”

Ian backs away.

“Eight.”

Mickey bursts into tears.

* * *

 

This is the second time Ian has ever seen Mickey cry like this.

The first was when Ian was being admitted to the hospital, and Mickey had to let him go. When they both knew that once he did, their lives would never be the same. That time didn’t nearly come as close to destroying his heart the way that this time does.

Ian stands still – his own tears running down his face – while Mickey cries. He wants to reach out to him, wrap himself around him, but he can’t. He knows Mickey couldn’t bear to touch him right now. No, instead, all Ian can do is watch. So he does. And the entire time he knows that he did this. He took this beautiful boy and broke him. Hurt him to the point of bitterness. He’s not sure that he can ever fix this.

Mickey eventually calms down enough. He wipes his eyes and sniffs. Clears his throat. Then he starts to laugh.

“Eight.”

Mickey shakes his head.

“Less than what I thought it would be.”

Ian remains silent. Mickey looks at him.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Mickey scoffs.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. There’s no point in lying now.”

“I’m not lying. I honestly wish I had some deep explanation, but the only thing I know is that I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to feel good all of the time. The Bipolar Disorder…one of the symptoms…”

“Fuck you. Don’t blame it on the disease, okay? I know what the symptoms are, and lying isn’t one of them. You knew you were fucking around on me. You acted purposefully. When you fucked those other guys, you knew exactly what you were doing. You want to know how I know that? Because of the porno.”

Ian’s confused.

“The porno?”

“Yeah. You had no problem with telling me about that one because you didn’t think you did anything wrong. But the others. You knew what you were doing, and that’s why you never said anything. So quit fucking lying to me. Just tell me I wasn’t enough for you.”

Ian yells. “That’s not true. You were…you are enough for me. I felt like shit, Mickey. Everything I had planned for my life was gone. WestPoint and the fucking army. School. Fucking everything.”

Mickey yells back.

“I was part of that plan too, Ian. And I was there. I was still right fucking there. And I am sorry that those parts of your life were gone. I know they meant everything to you, but _I_ wasn’t gone.”

Ian is about to reply when Mickey cuts in.

“I fucked a woman and I got a blowjob from a twink in a park the last time you took off.”

Ian’s stunned.

“But, I guess it didn’t matter, because you had already made up your mind about us by then, hadn’t you?”

Ian can feel the tears return to his eyes.

“You deserved better than what I was giving you.”

Mickey thumbs his nose.

“Oh, yeah?”

Ian nods.

“Yeah. I was sick, and you…”

“I was what?”

Ian swallows.

“You were going to get real sick of playing nursemaid. I was trying to make things easier for you.”

“Bullshit. You were making things easier for yourself. You’ve always been good at that.”

“Fuck you. Can you blame me for not wanting my boyfriend to treat me like I was fucking porcelain? Jesus, Mickey. I didn’t want to be taken care of.”

“No, you wanted someone to go along with your crazy shit, and normally, yeah, I would have, but this fucking disease was going to ruin your life if you kept going the way you were so forgive me for not wanting to watch you slowly kill yourself. After everything that you went through with your moth –"

Ian yells.

“I’m not my fucking mother.”

“No, you’re Ian Gallagher. You were the man I loved and would have fucking done anything for. And you were sick. You were crying all of the fucking time, and not getting out of bed, and then not sleeping for fucking days and doing dangerous shit. So, yes, I wanted to take care of you. Yes, I wanted to make sure that you were safe and happy and healthy. And, yes, I would have fucking forced every goddamn pill on this planet down your fucking throat if that meant keeping you any of those things. I did what I felt was right, and you can’t convince me otherwise. I’m not sorry for wanting to take care of you.”

“Jesus Christ, I wasn’t a baby. I didn’t need you looking after me.”

“What did you want me to do? Did you want me to stand by and watch you run wild? Did you want me to let you lie there in bed, covered in piss, and not eating, just crying? Was I supposed to look the other way while you’re swinging baseball bats at your sister’s head and yelling about MPs? Is that what you would have done if it was me? If I had gotten this fucking disease instead of you and had pulled the shit that you pulled because of it, would you have just stood off to the side and watched? Followed me around and silently hoped that I didn’t slit my wrists in the bathroom? Or would you have taken me to the doctor, gotten me help?”

Ian looks off to the side. Wipes the tears from his face.

“That’s what I fucking thought. So why would you think it would be any different for me?”

Ian speaks through his tears.

“You don’t know what it was like for me.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But you don’t know what it was like for _me_.”

They stare at each other. This is them. This is their brutality.

Mickey rubs a hand over his face.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to you.”

“Tell me you still love me. Tell me that we’re going to be okay.”

“I can’t.”

Ian turns away from him, running his hands through his hair and sobbing.

“Oh, god, I fucked up so bad, didn’t I? You’re saying goodbye, aren’t you?”

Mickey doesn’t say a word. Ian turns back to him and crosses the room, grabbing Mickey’s face and looking into the blue. Mickey lets him.

“I love you. I have been in love with you since I was fifteen years old, Mickey, and my biggest regret is pushing you away; is making you think that you weren’t what I wanted. And I know that you hate me. I know that I fucked up everything, but I want to fix it. I want to learn who you are. I want to learn who we are. And I’ll wait. I’ll fucking wait as long as I need to. But, please, give me that chance. Let me have that chance.”

Mickey pulls Ian’s hands away from his face.

“I need to go.”

Ian feels his heart break.

As Mickey is walking through the door, Ian tries once more.

“My bus leaves at 7:30 tomorrow morning. If you change your mind…”

Mickey leaves.

Ian cries.

* * *

 

Mickey arrives home to find Annie sitting on the couch, reading. She turns to look at him as he walks through the door.

“Can I ask how it went?”

Mickey shrugs.

“It went.”

Annie grimaces and then pats the couch. Mickey follows her command and sits down.

“What happened?”

“He apologized. Said he was sorry for everything. Told me he loves me. Said he wants to try again.”

“And you?”

 Mickey rubs his hands over his face.

“There were eight men. He told me there were eight men.”

His eyes fill with tears.

“I’m not saying I was good. But once it became ‘us’, it was ‘us’ for me. And it hurts to know that it wasn’t like that for him.”

His voice breaks as tears flow.

“And all I ever wanted was for us to be happy. For us to have the life that I thought we both wanted. And now he says he’s better. He says that he’s taking his medication, and he knows where he went wrong, and all of that shit. But how do I know that it’ll stay that way? How do I know that he’s not going to wake up tomorrow and decide that he’s done? I couldn’t go through that again, Annie. I couldn’t fucking do it.”

Annie puts her hand on his shoulder as he wipes his eyes.

“If he hadn’t ended things, would you still be with him?”

Mickey looks at her.

“Of course.”

“And would you have forgiven him for everything?”

Mickey hesitates but nods.

“So maybe it’s worth a second look.”

“We don’t know each other.”

“Then that’s where you start.”

* * *

 

Ian’s bus leaves in ten minutes.

And he doesn’t see the person he was hoping to see.

He didn’t sleep at all last night. He was too busy crying and combing through their conversation, picking through the rubble to see if there was any chance of survival. He had come up empty.

Now he waits. Smoking a cigarette and checking his phone. Mandy had sent him a ‘have a safe trip’ text this morning. She had the breakfast shift and wasn’t able to see him off. It was probably better that way.

He’s got five minutes. Most of the people are on board already. He’s one of the only ones to dawdle. But he needs to see this through to the last possible second. He sees the bus driver coming towards the bus.

He’s out of time.

He stubs out his cigarette and tries to hold back the tears. As he starts to head towards the bus, he feels a hand on his arm. He turns.

Mickey.

Ian gives a small gasp. Mickey speaks.

“This is not me rolling out the welcome mat. It’s not me making promises or guarantees or any of that shit. This is me just saying that if you were to call I might answer.”

Ian can’t form any words. So he nods. Mickey nods as well and starts to back away. Ian finds his voice.

“What changed your mind?”

Mickey takes a deep breath.

“I don’t hate you. But I don’t know what that means yet.”

Ian gives a small smile. Mickey averts his eyes and begins to walk away. Ian calls out.

“I’ll talk to you later, Mick.”

Mickey looks back and flips Ian off. Ian laughs. 

He watches until Mickey turns the corner and he can’t see him anymore.

“Hey, kid, you coming or what?”

He turns and smiles at the bus driver and climbs aboard. He finds an empty seat in the back. He gives a giddy laugh. 

Ian will call.

And Mickey will answer.


	6. What's Happening With You and Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from What's Happening With You and Him by Ane Brun

It’s a rough go.

When Ian calls, their conversations are stilted at best. They don’t know each other anymore. All they have tying them together is a history that hurts.

Mickey is wary. Ian can feel it when they talk. He reveals very little about his life despite Ian’s probing questions. Ian becomes frustrated because he’s trying, goddamn it. He wants this to work; is desperate for this to work.

And Mickey is not cooperating.

They argue. About this, about Ian’s relentless pushing and Mickey’s shaky faith.

They don’t speak. Ian’s at a complete loss. He was so confident when he left Phoenix. Too confident probably, but he knew what he wanted and he was positive that Mickey’s acquiescence met he wanted the same. Now, he’s not sure.

By the thirteenth day of their silent war, he’s at the end of his rope. He storms downstairs to the kitchen after slamming doors and drawers. He goes to the cabinet, pulls out his pillbox, slamming that onto the counter and going to grab a glass of orange juice. He can feel Fiona’s eyes on him from where she sits at the kitchen table with Liam. He hears her whisper something to him, hears Liam’s tiny feet cautiously make their way upstairs. This just pisses him off even more.

“What’s going on?”

Ian snorts. What a loaded fucking question.

“Nothing.”

“Ian…”

He slams the glass onto the counter, making Fiona jump.

“Jesus Christ, Fiona, for once in your life, can you leave me the fuck alone? I said ‘nothing’; I mean ‘nothing’. Fuck.”

Fiona remains silent. Ian avoids turning around, not wanting to see the look of fear and worry she’s more than likely wearing.

“I have a shift at the gas station. I’ll see you later.”

With that, he stomps out of the kitchen, slamming the front door behind him.

* * *

 

Work is no better.

Every customer is a fucking idiot and his co-worker is a pain in the ass. He has to control his anger, though, if he wants to keep his fucking dead end job so he soldiers through it.

He spends his lunch hour brooding and trying to figure out a way through the mess he’s made. Mickey’s not reaching out to him, and he’s too fucking scared to, worried that either Mickey won’t answer or he will, just to tell Ian that they’re done for good. To not call. To disappear.

Ian doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens.

When he gets home, Lip is standing by the kitchen sink with Fiona sitting at the table, right where Ian left her this morning. He wonders if she moved from that spot at all today. He stops in the living room, readying for the fight that is sure to come. He makes his way to the kitchen and stands in the doorway. They all stare at each other for a few seconds; the tension quickly builds. Lip breaks the silence.

“Want to tell us what’s been going on? Fiona said you’ve been a real moody bastard lately. My words.”

“Jesus Christ, just fucking leave me alone. Why can’t you ever do that? Wh –"

“You fucking know why, Ian. I’m not playing this fucking game with you anymore so cut the shit and fucking speak.”

“Fuck you.”

Ian turns around, determined to leave, until he feels Lip’s hand on his arm. He spins around and pushes him. Lip comes right back, slamming Ian into the wall. Ian struggles, but he’s either too out of shape or Lip’s too angry for him to break Lip’s hold. Fiona yells at Lip to let him go. He ignores her.

“Listen, here, you little shit. I am sick and tired of going through this bullshit with you. You’re our brother and we’re not going to leave you alone. We’ve done that and look where it got us. So you’re going to sit the fuck down and you’re going to open your goddamn mouth and spill the secrets you’ve been keeping. You fucking hear me?”

He slams Ian against the wall again.

“Do you _fucking_ hear me?”

Ian nods. Lip lets him go. Fiona who’s now standing close by goes to touch Ian’s shoulder, but he pushes past her to sit at the table. She rubs her face and sniffs, sitting at the table herself. Lip remains standing.

Fiona’s approach is gentler, quieter. She reaches out for Ian, but like the past two years, he remains beyond her reach. Ian can see the pain in her eyes so he looks away. She leans her head down a little, trying to catch his eye.

“Sweetie, tell us what’s going on. Is it the medicine? Are you…feeling sick?”

Ian snorts. Fiona continues.

“If that’s what it is, we need to get you back to the doctor. Tomorrow morning. I can –"

“That’s not what it is.”

“We can’t be sure.”

“I am sure. This isn’t me sick, Fiona. This is me pissed off.”

“About what?”

“Mickey and I –"

Lip erupts.

“I fucking knew it. I fucking knew it had something to do with him. Motherfucker. You’ve been talking to him again, haven’t you? Jesus Christ, Ian.”

Ian yells back.

“You don’t know shit about him, Lip, so just shut the fuck up. You don’t know what we had with each other.”

“I know exactly what you fucking had. I was fucking there through all of it, remember? Every fucking tear, and bruise, and broken heart. I fucking saw it so spare me the Romeo and Juliet ‘no one understands our love’ bullshit.”

Fiona cuts in.

“You found Mickey?”

Ian turns to her.

“He’s in Phoenix with Mandy. I saw him when I was out there. He agreed to talk, but we got into a fight...”

“Fucking shocker.”

Ian turns back to Lip.

“Fuck you. You don’t get to tell me how to run my life. I was happy with him.”

“Oh yeah? Is that why you fucked all those guys behind his back? That why you dumped him? Because you were so fucking happy you had to spread the wealth?”

Ian freezes.

“You chased after his ass for three years, Ian. You going to do that for another three? Because if you are, I got to say that’s fucking pathetic. Even for you.”

Ian feels the tears start to well in his eyes. Lip scoffs.

“Fiona, good luck. I’m out.”

They watch Lip leave. Ian starts to do the same until Fiona catches his arm, pulling him back towards her.

“Ian, please.”

He turns to face her. They stare at each other through tear-clouded eyes.

“Ian, I know how much you love him…”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea. I have never loved anyone but him. I want him all the time, but he doesn’t…”

He begins to sob. Fiona holds him, rocking him back and forth before she whispers.

“Let him go.”

She doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t know how.

* * *

 

Mickey’s distracted.

He keeps losing focus while fixing a transmission and keeps having to double back to ensure that he’s doing it correctly. By the time the garage is closing, he’s not even halfway done with fixing it. He’ll have to come in tomorrow on his day off to make up for lost time. Fucking hell.

He makes his way home, finding Mandy lounging on the couch watching television. He grunts in her general direction before heading towards the bathroom. He showers, scrubbing at the oil on his hands, making sure to remove as much as he can from under his fingernails. He rubs as hard as he can, but parts of his skin are permanently stained. It’s fucking poetic.

By the time he heads back into the living room, Mandy has thrown in a frozen pizza and they sit, drinking beer and watching reruns of _Ghost Whisperer_. Mandy fucking loves this show for reasons beyond Mickey. She actually cried when Jim died.

After enough beers, he stumbles back into his room, shutting the door and collapsing onto the bed. Later, he feels the bed sink a little and feels Annie’s warmth by his side. A whisper cuts through the darkness.

“Did you talk?”

He knows what she’s referring to. He ignores her until she turns away from him.

They didn’t.

 

He wakes up to Mandy running around the apartment, getting ready for work while Annie sits at the table drinking coffee with an amused expression on her face. Mandy pushes him while making her way towards the door. He flips her off.

Annie smiles at him while he gets a cup of coffee and pushes out one of the chairs with her foot, inviting him to sit. He rolls his eyes but does as bidden.

“No breakfast?”

Annie shakes her head.

“Tell me first.”

Mickey rubs his nose and shrugs.

“I already told you. We argued about the fact that he’s a pushy shit who wants too much too fast and I’m not willing to give just yet. We haven’t talked since.”

“Have you tried calling him?”

“Jesus Christ, why is this being turned back on me? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’re the one who agreed to talk to him.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean I’m just going to roll over when he tells me to. He needs to fucking learn that. It’s not going to be like before. It can’t.”

“He pushes. You knew that.”

Mickey remains silent. Annie stands up and kisses the top of his head.

“Be strong. It’s only the end of the world.”

Mickey snorts.

Annie makes pancakes.

* * *

 

Ian waits until Fiona and Liam are asleep before he sneaks out of the house.

As he makes his way along the streets, he counts his breaths and tunes out the noise of sirens. He lights a cigarette when he reaches the dugout, sitting down on one of the benches and pulling his phone out of his pocket. He lays it down beside him, shooting glances at it every once and awhile. After one last drag, he throws the cigarette on the floor and picks up his phone. He wants privacy for this call. He doesn’t know how it’ll go. If it ends badly, he doesn’t want Fiona to hear his grieving.

As the phone rings, he bites a nail. Mickey answers.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

They remain silent. Ian briefly thinks that he could spend the rest of his life just listening to Mickey breathing if it kept him on the line.

“How’ve you been?”

Ian chokes back a sob. He gives a teary response.

“Not good.”

He hears Mickey sigh.

“Ian…”

“I’m sorry. I know I push; I know I have to give you time. I’m trying to do that. It’s just…I want you so much, Mickey. I want _us_. We were happy, remember? We could be that again. I can make you happy; I know I can.”

Mickey is quiet. Ian tenses in fear.

“Mickey?”

“There were no promises, Ian. I told you that.”

“I know, I know. I just…I mean, isn’t that the goal? Isn’t that what we’re aiming towards?”

More silence.

“Mickey.”

A deep breath.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Ian.”

“What?”

“It’s too hard. It was always…it shouldn’t be this way.”

“Please, Mickey.”

“I just need some time.”

“You had two years.”

“Two years of patching up holes. I need time to…adjust to you again.”

Ian speaks through his tears.

“How long?”

Mickey becomes frustrated.

“I don’t know, Ian. However long I need.”

“A month. I’ll give you a month. After that, I’m coming for you whether you want me to or not.”

There’s another sigh.

“Goodbye, Ian.”

The call disconnects.

Ian falls apart.

* * *

 

A month goes by, and Ian hears nothing.

Another month gone. And still nothing.

By the third month, Ian’s boarding a bus to Phoenix.

* * *

 

Mickey’s speaking with a customer when he sees Robbie standing outside the garage smoking a cigarette.

They make brief eye contact with Mickey giving a quick nod before returning to the customer, explaining to him that there’s a hole in the muffler and that’s why it’s making that god awful sound. When he’s done, he tells one of his co-workers he’s going for a smoke break.

Robbie’s standing off to the side on what has to be his third cigarette. He barely acknowledges Mickey, simply handing over the pack and a lighter. Mickey lights his own cigarette while looking over at Robbie who remains silent. After Mickey takes his second drag, he groans.

“Jesus Christ, fucking spill it. My smoke break’s not that long.”

Robbie huffs.

“You’ve got a problem.”

“I’ve got a shit ton so you might want to narrow it down a bit.”

“This problem has red hair.”

He turns to look at Robbie who’s staring back at him. He’s not joking.

“Fuck you talking about?”

“Ian’s here.”

Mickey starts shaking his head, chuckling as he does so.

“No. No. I haven’t spoken to him in about three months.”

“Annie called me. He showed up at the restaurant, bags in hand. She called Mandy and then she called me. Wanted to give you a head’s up in case...”

“Fuck.”

He starts to pace. Adrenaline is coursing and he doesn’t know what to do with the excess energy. He wants to fucking scream.

“What are you going to do?”

He yells.

“I don’t fucking know, Robbie. I’ve never been stalked by a crazy ass motherfucker before.”

Robbie puts up his hands in a placating gesture. Mickey takes a deep breath and rubs his face.

“Call Mandy. Tell her to keep him away from me. I got to get back to work.”

He tosses his cigarette and stalks back into the garage.

* * *

 

Ian may not have hit rock bottom yet, but he feels pretty fucking close to it.

It says a lot when a person leaves his home to chase down an aloof ex-boyfriend; mainly, it says that person is fucking insane, but he’s desperate. He quite honestly didn’t know what else to do.

He wishes he could blame this on the mania, but he can’t. This was too well thought out to be that. He had waited the allotted time all the while knowing that Mickey was more than likely going to bail. So he had a contingency plan in place. He took as many shifts as he could, going so far as to get a third job. He would stick a few twenties here and there into the squirrel fund, but for the most part, he stashed it. He thought briefly of returning to the club but decided against it. Although it would have been easy money, he would have one more thing to feel guilty about when he caught up with Mickey. So instead, he worked his ass off and in between shifts he slept and plotted. He determined that in three months time he would have enough to get him to Phoenix. He knew staying with Mickey would be out of the question so he had to factor in motel fees until he was able to find a job.

In the last few seconds before he would fall asleep, Ian would think about Mickey’s reactions to seeing him in Phoenix, to hearing that he decided to move there permanently. They were never anything good.

But fuck, if he was going down without a fight.

By the time the money was saved and his ticket was purchased, Ian was antsy. He had packed, unpacked, and repacked his duffel bags twice, each time going over every item. He could only take so much and he wanted to make sure that he was only taking the essentials.

The afternoon he was set to leave, he went to the diner to say goodbye to Fiona. He gestured for her to come outside and when she was done waiting on her table, she did just that. He explained why he was there and what he was doing. He’d never seen fear come over someone so quickly. She grabbed onto his hoodie, trying to remain calm but failing miserably as she prattled on about doctors and medication adjustments. He kissed her forehead, told her he would call when he got to Phoenix, and pried her hands from him. She called his name as he walked away.

He didn’t have the heart to look back.

This time when he arrived at the restaurant he knew what to expect. Unfortunately, Annie didn’t if the expression on her face was any indication. She stared at him with wide eyes before softening her look and giving a tight smile. When Annie told him that Mandy wasn’t working today, he believed her. He doesn’t know Annie, but he gets the impression that she isn’t a liar.

He told her that Mandy wasn’t returning his calls or texts. Told her to call Mandy to let her know that he was staying at the same motel he stood at last time. That he would text her the room number.

When he left, he saw Annie rushing to make that call.

 

Ian is no stranger to the Milkovich rage so it comes as absolutely no surprise to him when an hour and a half later he hears intense pounding at his door.

He answers it and plants his feet as Mandy rushes him.

“You stupid fuck. What the fuck are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer, choosing instead to let her vent her frustration.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing just showing up like this? Are you out of your goddamn mind? Are you taking your meds? Jesus Christ, Ian, this is not okay. This is…fucking say something, you stupid prick.”

Ian takes a breath and closes the door.

“I’m going to explain myself. I don’t want you to say anything until I’m done. Okay?”

Mandy nods.

“This fucking long distance thing was bullshit. I knew it from the beginning, but I was willing to give it a shot. It didn’t work. Mickey and I need to see each other. That’s just how it works for us. We need to see each other and touch each other in order to make sense of what we have. Moving to Phoenix…it’s the only card I have left.”

Mandy just stares at him for an unnervingly long time. Then…she bursts out laughing. She doubles over, gasping for air with tears running down her face. It’s Ian’s turn to stare at her as though she’s gone insane. When she looks at him again, another round of laughter erupts. Finally, she hiccups to a stop, still snorting every once and awhile.

“You truly are one crazy fatherfucker, aren’t you?”

Ian smiles and shrugs. Mandy shakes her head.

“I hope you know that you have freaked Mickey the fuck out.”

Ian winces.

“Is it bad?”

Mandy chuckles.

“That’s an understatement.”

Ian sighs and rubs his face before collapsing on the bed. Mandy lies down next to him.

“I didn’t know what else to do, Mandy.”

Ian feels the sting of tears. Mandy clasps his hand.

“At least he knows I’m alive now, right?”

“He always knew you were alive. That’s why he wanted you dead.”

He can tell she’s trying to lighten the mood. He looks at her, and when she notes the worry etched on his face, she become stoic.

“Give him a couple of days. Let him come to you.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

Mandy gives a tiny smile.

“He will.”

* * *

 

Mickey’s an anxious mess, pacing back and forth while biting his nails.

When he hears keys in the door, he’s right there, startling Mandy. She ignores him, placing her keys on the table, taking off her shoes. Finally, Mickey breaks.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you tell him to go the fuck home?”

“According to him, he is home.”

Shit. This isn’t good.

“Fuck. We need to get him to a hospital.”

“He’s not manic.”

“Fucking of course he is. A person doesn’t just pick up and leave everything.”

“You did.”

Mickey snaps.

“That was different and you fucking know it.”

Mandy shrugs. Mickey huffs.

“We have to call Fiona at least. Tell her to come and get him.”

“You have her number? Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“He’s fucking sick.”

“He’s been planning this for months. He’s not sick.”

“He needs to go home, Mandy.”

“Then you tell him that.”

“Don’t fucking do this to me.”

“I don’t know what more you want me to say.”

Mickey furrows his brow and sighs.

“I told him to give me time.”

Mandy shrugs again.

* * *

 

Ian doesn’t hear from Mickey for two weeks.

In the meantime, he works. Mandy speaks to her manager and gets him hired as a busboy a few hours a week. He gets another job at a Circle K.

He’s arriving back to his room after a shift at the restaurant when he sees Mickey standing in front of his door. He’s smoking a cigarette and looking pissed. Ian winces.

“Hey.”

Mickey just nods his head. Ian sighs and opens his door, walking in first and not even checking to see if Mickey’s behind him. He knows that he is.

He keeps his back to Mickey even after hearing the door close. The energy in the room has shifted. Ian shakes slightly from the budding tension, the growing anxiety. Mickey is the first to speak.

“Want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Ian swallows.

“Nothing.”

He feels Mickey walk towards him, feels him grab his arm. Although the grip is harsh and meant as a means to spin Ian around, his skin tingles and his heart picks up speed. He’s electrified. But from the look on Mickey’s face, he is not feeling the same way.

“Cut the shit. The fuck are you doing here?”

Ian’s ready to begin pleading, but he knows that he needs to downplay this. Too much and Mickey will push back. Besides, there’ll be plenty of time for pleading later.

“I told you that I was going to come for you after a month. I’m late, though. It’s been three.”

Mickey has that expression on his face, the one that says, “you’re fucking sick.” Ian hates that fucking expression. He wants it gone as quickly as possible.

He walks over to the nightstand and opens the drawer, pulling out his prescription bottles and pillbox. He lays them out so Mickey can see them. He then picks up a bottle and hands it to Mickey to review.

“See, I just got my prescriptions refilled a week before I left. I have an additional three months of refills. I already had my psychiatrist research mental health services here. There aren’t many to be honest, but she was able to find an agency that works with low income clients. I have an appointment with them at the end of next month. I’m sleeping. I’m eating. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do. My coming here has nothing to do with having Bipolar Disorder.”

Mickey stares at the prescription bottle. Ian can tell that Mickey isn’t even seeing it anymore. He’s too busy processing what Ian said. He goes on.

“I’m here to show you that I’m stable. I’m secure. I’m taking care of myself. I want you to see that I follow through on everything now. I’m not going to run. I’m _staying_ , Mickey.”

Mickey remains silent. Ian hates silence. It’s never been good to him.

Finally, Mickey places the prescription bottle on the table and walks towards the door. Before he leaves, he glances at Ian.

The expression is gone.

* * *

 

Mickey comes stomping into the apartment, slamming the door and throwing his keys down on the table.

He ignores the stares from Mandy and Robbie, pulling open the fridge so hard that it shakes. He grabs a beer and drinks it in one go. He then glares at them.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

Robbie replies.

“A very pissed off man is my guess.”

“Fuck you.”

Mandy cuts in.

“Any progress?”

Mickey shakes his head.

“Fucker says he’s staying.”

“Told you.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

Robbie shrugs.

“That’s for you to decide.”

Mickey grabs another beer.

* * *

 

Mickey carries on like Ian isn’t living in town.

He doesn’t call. He avoids the restaurant. He listens at his own fucking door to make sure Mandy didn’t bring Ian over. He’s a fucking coward, but avoidance is his only defense.

They all keep telling him he needs to decide. He needs to either let Ian go completely or take him back. There is no middle. There never was with them.

He doesn’t know what he wants. Initially, he wanted to try, but then they started talking, and all that anger and resentment and fucking hurt came hurtling back. It seems he never quite healed.

He could tell Ian was trying. He was this mixture of humble and remorseful and eager. But Mickey couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even meet him half-way. He wouldn’t answer questions. Wouldn’t reminisce. For every good time Ian mentioned, Mickey thought of ten bad. He knows Ian was just trying to jog his memory, banking on lingering love. But, honestly, Mickey wasn’t entirely sure there was any.

So Mickey resisted. And Ian got impatient like Mickey knew he would. They argued like always.

And his memory was jogged.

And he ended it.

He walked away.

Before Ian could.

For the first time, he outmaneuvered Ian, using the same combative measure that he taught him. They had forever been stuck in a tug of way until Mickey let go of the rope, and suddenly, Ian didn’t know what to do. Mickey figured that’s why he was here now. Ian wasn’t use to being walked out on. Wasn’t used to not having the last word. Mickey had stolen that from him for once. That’s all this was.

And that’s what Mickey continues to hang on to. Because the alternative scares the shit out of him. The thought that Ian actually wants him back, wants to give this colossal clusterfuck of a relationship another try is too heartbreaking to consider.

So Mickey avoids.

And avoids.

And avoids.

Until the day, he can’t.

* * *

 

It’s been two months since Ian came to Phoenix and he’s no closer to securing Mickey then he was back then.

On the bright side, he and Mandy are friends again. They hang out, talking and laughing about random shit. Mandy listens as he laments his lack of progress with Mickey even though she refuses to say what she knows about Mickey’s mindset. It’s annoying.

She and Ian are talking about getting an apartment together. She’s sick of sleeping on a pull out couch and having absolutely no privacy. She lets slip that Annie and Mickey share a room, a bed. It makes Ian irrationally jealous even though he knows nothing is going on.

On his two month anniversary in Phoenix, he finds himself working a double at the restaurant. He’s cleaning a table when he looks over at the hostess podium where Annie and Mandy stand talking and laughing with some good-looking guy. The guy looks over at Ian which alerts Mandy to his presence. She waves Ian over, and he obliges. Mandy makes a quick introduction.

“Ian, this is Robbie. Robbie, Ian.”

Robbie smiles and holds out his hand. Ian wipes his hands on his apron and extends his. Robbie has a firm grip. Ian’s stomach sinks. He suddenly doesn’t want to know who Robbie is.

“Nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Ian looks at Mandy for some sort of explanation until Annie speaks.

“Your reputation precedes you.”

He looks at her bowed head. Robbie snorts and downplays Annie’s comment.

“It’s cool, man. It’s just…I’m friends with Mickey.”

Ian nods.

“Well, nice to meet you. I should…I’ve got a lot of tables to clean.”

Ian walks away.

There’s no logic to his sudden dislike of Robbie.

* * *

 

Ian’s trying to remain patient.

Mandy keeps saying that he needs to remain calm, needs to give Mickey space to think things through. It’s been two months, though. Ian figures he’s had enough time to think. That’s how he finds himself standing outside Mickey’s apartment, knocking on the door with his heart pounding. Annie answers.

“Mandy’s not here.”

“I came to see Mickey.”

“He’s not here either.”

Ian bites his lip.

“Can I wait for him?”

Annie hesitates a few seconds before sighing and moving to the side to let Ian pass. He looks around the apartment. It’s simply decorated. There are a couple of pictures of Annie and Mickey. A couple more with Mandy. This is Mickey’s life now. This is how he lives without Ian.

“You can have a seat in the kitchen if you want.”

Ian turns to look at Annie. He nods and follows her into the kitchen. He sits at the table, noting that she was in the middle of making dinner.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“Water’s fine.”

She reaches into a cupboard, pulling out a glass and filling it with water from the tap. She places it in front of him. Never once does she make eye contact.

Ian doesn’t touch the water. Instead, he watches Annie move around the kitchen with ease. He remembers Mandy mentioning once that she was a good cook. That Mickey had encouraged her to go to culinary school. That she had brushed it off.

He has never seen Annie this secure before. She exudes confidence. There’s a kind of grace in her movements, in the way she chops carrots.

“What are you making?”

“Chicken.”

“Smells good.”

She doesn’t reply. Ian takes a breath.

“You don’t like me, do you?”

He sees her tense, her back straightening, her hands pausing their work. He’s thrown her off her game. When she replies, he can tell she’s trying very hard to keep her voice neutral.

“Why do you say that?”

Ian wants to go into detail. Wants to tell her that she avoids eye contact, that her movements are stiff around him, that she ignores him when he’s standing a foot away from her. He keeps it simple though.

“Just a feeling I get.”

There’s a pause before Annie replies.

“Does it matter whether I like you or not?”

Ian nods even though she can’t see him.

“Mickey and Mandy value your opinion.”

Annie puts down the knife, grabs a dish towel to wipe her hands, and then turns to look at Ian. She leans against the counter, laying her hands flat on her thighs.

“Is there something you’d like to ask me?”

“Have you talked to Mickey about me?”

The accusation is evident. Ian didn’t even realize he was having this particular thought.

“You think I’m the reason he’s avoiding you.”

Ian doesn’t reply which is answer enough. Annie licks her lips and rubs her palms together.

“What was Mickey like before you left him?”

Ian’s confused, but he answers anyway.

“Happy.”

“And after?”

Ian furrows his brow. He doesn’t know where she’s going with this.

“I heard –"

“You heard. I saw. Listen, I don’t know what he was like when you loved him. But I know what he was like when you didn’t. And, honestly, I don’t know you. I only know what I’ve heard. I’ve only seen the consequences of your actions. Mickey is my best friend, and I want him to have everything he wants. But he determines that, not me. He’s a good man. He makes his own decisions. I’m just here to provide support and love. The rest is up to him. If he’s avoiding you, it’s because he wants to. It has nothing to do with me. And instead of accusing me of things I have no control over, maybe you should ask yourself why he wouldn’t want to see you. Although something tells me you are well acquainted with that answer.”

She turns away from him, going back to her chopping.

“I didn’t mean –"

She turns around and interrupts him.

“Of course you did. It’s easier to put the blame on somebody else. Maybe it helps you to carry on. But that doesn’t make it true.”

Annie returns to her chopping.

Ian drinks his water.

* * *

 

Ian and Annie both look up when they hear keys in the door.

Mickey walks into the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks. They all stare at each other awkwardly until Annie turns and takes the roasting pan out of the oven, placing it on the stovetop. Mickey and Ian watch as she covers the rest of the food. She then walks past Mickey, briefly touching his shoulder as she walks out of the room, slips on her shoes, and grabs her keys. They hear the front door close. The awkwardness remains.

Mickey rubs his hands over his face before looking at Ian.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Mickey sighs and pulls out a chair, sitting down heavily at the table. Ian notices how worn out he looks, as though he’s been rubbed raw. He knows it’s because of him. He hangs his head.

“I know you’re looking for some quick fix.”

Ian lifts his head and opens his mouth to speak. Mickey holds out his hand, palm facing towards Ian to silence him.

“Let me talk.”

Ian nods.

“I think you want this to be easy. But the hole’s too deep, you know? Or maybe that’s just how it feels for me. The hole’s too deep…and I can’t see the sky.”

Mickey’s voice breaks. He turns his face away.

“And I don’t know if I ever will.”

Ian sniffs. Lets the tears build in his eyes. Mickey continues; his voice fills with tears.

“I wasn’t raised right. And you were so _new_. And I wanted you. So much. From that first day…I know I fought, but there wasn’t one moment that I didn’t want you. When you got sick, I was terrified. But I wanted to take care of you. I know that’s not what you wanted though.”

Neither one of them bother to wipe the tears from their faces. Mickey stops talking. It’s Ian’s turn.

“I did a lot of shitty things, and I can never take back any of that. I pushed you far away. I was sick and I didn’t want to get better. Not then. And I knew that you would…hate me. Eventually.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Because everyone else did.”

“I’m not them.”

“I know. But I wasn’t willing to take that risk. I can stand a lot of people’s hate, but I couldn’t stand yours.”

They're quiet, both mulling over what the other has revealed. Mickey eventually stands up from the table. Ian tenses, watches as Mickey moves to the sink. As he keeps his back to him. As he grips the edge, knuckles white. Ian whispers.

“It can’t end like this.”

He hears a shaky breath come from Mickey. Ian stands and goes to him, turning him around. Their arms find their old positions around each other’s bodies.

They’re silent.

And they begin.


End file.
